I've Imagined It All
by crimepays
Summary: On stage, Santana's a rising star in the music industry and Brittany is her choreographer. Backstage, Brittany is her muse. Eventually, Santana's public and private life must come to a head.
1. Chapter 1

_I've Imagined It All _

**Chapter 1**

Eight year-old Santana's voice wailed to match little Michael Jackson's. "Just call my name. I'll be there..."

Brittany twirled around in front of her before Santana grabbed her hand and got to one knee. Throwing her head back she continued, "Let me fill your heart with joy and laughter. Togetherness is all I'm after. Whenever you need me, I'll be there..."

Brittany beamed at her theatricality before pulling her off her knees, taking both the singer's hands in her own and spinning her around the room. Santana's miniature microphone stand crashed to the floor. When she could catch her breath, Santana closed her eyes and belted the lyrics as loud as she could. And when the twirls became too much, she still mouthed every single lyric of her mother's favorite song.

"Girls, dinner's almost ready, go wash up," Santana's mother called from the kitchen.

"One more time, mom." Santana turned to Brittany. "Britts, this time, let me sing it to you."

Brittany's face fell. "But I wanna dance, San."

"Fine, but I need an audience. You can dance in the audience. Famous singers always have an audience."

"No! Famous dancers don't sit in the audience." Brittany crossed her arms and glared at Santana.

Santana knew she wouldn't get her way without a little compromise. "Fine. You dance in front of me and look at me. I'll sing to you."

Santana picked the microphone stand up off the floor. Brittany hit replay on the stereo before running back to face Santana.

... ... ... ... ...

As it turns out, famous singers really did always have an audience. Santana pushed her sunglasses up her nose and pulled the brim of her hat over her face. Flashes went off around her. Bodyguards jostled photographers on the left and right. "Santana!" "Ms. Lopez!" rang out in the airport terminal.

Santana had finally arrived in London after nearly seven hours in the air. Her legs were cramped. Her hair matted from her sleeping position. Her stomach growled. Just a week earlier, she'd left her home in LA to begin a brief East Coast and European solo tour. At least, according to her manager, three weeks was supposed to be brief. She'd spent one night in Miami, the next night in Atlanta, one night in DC, a day in Philly, two nights in New York, and two nights in Boston before flying back to JFK and catching a flight to Heathrow.

During that whirlwind tour, she'd played eight solo shows. Her favorite piano had somehow taken a tumble and been sent to some repair shop in Virginia. She went to twelve meet and greets with fans. She'd received ten proposals, more than fifteen dozen roses, and about forty phone numbers. In New York, she appeared on the Regis and Kelly show, where she'd had to give Regis a kiss on the lips. His Aqua Velva aftershave still burned her nostrils at the memory.

And she still had yet to speak to Brittany.

On a solo tour, Santana couldn't justify bringing Britts along. Sure, Brittany had choreographed some of her larger, "Beyonce" numbers, as she liked to call them. But this tour was more about showcasing her sultry, sexy lounge singer act, the act that had brought her the most recognition and praise. And therefore, there would be no dancing. No dancing meant no Brittany.

But no Brittany didn't mean no Brittany. Once in the comfort of her hotel room, she pulled out her phone.

"Hi, babe," came a soft voice on the other end. Santana checked the clock. It would be about six AM in Los Angeles.

"Hi," she said hoarsely between sips of tea. "Sorry I woke you up."

"S'ok. You can always wake me up. How was the flight?"

Santana closed her eyes and leaned up against the headboard of the bed, imagining herself sitting next to Brittany back in Los Angeles, lighting pushing its was through the crack in the curtains.

"I'm so tired. I can't wait to be back home."

"Oh, don't say that, Santana. You are living your dream right now. Live it up!"

Santana smiled. "I wish I could have brought you with me."

There was silence on the other end.

"Less than two weeks now. Then I'm back home."

"I can't wait. I'll have to show you some of the music video stuff I've been choreographing. I just got two more calls today about new videos."

"That's great babe," Santana opened her eyes and reached again for the tea. "Just remember to save your best stuff for me."

"Well if you keep doing this solo stuff, you won't need me," Brittany countered a little too quickly. The line fell silent. "San, I didn't mean to say..."

"No, you're right. You live it up, too, Britt...Hey, I need some rest. I'll call you after my show tonight, or tomorrow or something."

"Santana...You'll always have the best of me, okay?"

"Yeah, ok. I'm sorry I didn't bring you with me. Really." Her voice softened.

"Love you."

"Love you, too."


	2. Chapter 2

"I've Imagined It All"

**Chapter 2**

The European leg of Santana's solo tour went over well, for the most part. She had to cancel two nights in Frankfurt because of laryngitis. Fans weren't pleased, but her manager and agent went to work smoothing things over for her. On those two nights, she camped out in her hotel room using a borrowed computer to video chat with Brittany. She coughed her way through an explanation of the previous three nights' performances in Paris. At one point in the conversation, Brittany told her to wait and disappeared for about five minutes. When she returned, she was carrying a giant bowl of chicken soup, "for you," according to Brittany. Santana smiled and tears came to her eyes. On the plane ride home, Santana was so nervous to see Brittany that she couldn't keep still. Instead, she wrote song after song, humming each in her head and matching music to lyrics to choreography and tour set design.

When she landed at LAX at four in the morning, the black Suburban took her straight to Brittany's apartment. She used the key Brittany had given her a year ago to quietly enter. When she crossed the threshold, she was greeted with a "Welcome Home" banner, newspaper article clippings praising her recent solo tour, and a bouquet of gardenia.

Gently, she turned the knob to Brittany's bedroom door and found Brittany sprawled out in her bed, hugging Santana's pillow. She dropped her travel bag on the floor and carefully pulled the pillow from Brittany's grasp.

Brittany smiled up at her sleepily, awakened by the disturbance. "Hi."

Santana felt tears brimming in her eyes as she stood over Brittany, taking her in.

"Come here." She pushed the pillow up and pulled the sheets back, allowing Santana entrance. Santana - shoes, coat, and all - climbed in and cupped Brittany's face in her hands. Pulling Brittany's face close to hers, she pressed her full lips to Brittany's and pulled her bottom lip between her own, drawing the kiss out. Brittany closed her eyes and reached up to wipe the tears coming down Santana's cheeks.

Santana tucked her face into Brittany's collarbone and inhaled sharply. She wrapped her arms around Brittany's midsection and pulled tight. Brittany rested her hands on Santana's back, tracing light circles. "Go to sleep babe."

After a few minutes, Brittany felt Santana's breath even out on her bare skin and she closed her eyes. 

When Santana awoke, Brittany was running her fingers through her hair and looking down at her. She smiled, "You still have your shoes on, you know."

Santana tented the sheets, looked under and laughed. "Oops!" She took another glance and her eyes raked up Brittany's body. She was wearing short cotton boyshorts and a tank top. Santana hooked a finger under the tanktop and pushed up, revealing Brittany's toned abs. Her fingers ran over the skin, then down and over top her boyshorts.

"I missed you."

"I missed you, too, San. Take these off." Brittany yanked at her coat and jeans.

Dipping back into the bed, Brittany's hands immediately drew Santana into a searing kiss, tongue velvet against her own. When they pulled back, Brittany's pupils were dilated and her hands pulled at Santana's body, urging more contact. Santana hooked a leg over top of Brittany's thigh and pulled herself on top, straddling the tall dancer.

Her eyes studied Brittany from her new position. She pushed her center down on Brittany's thigh, displaying her arousal.

"It's been three weeks, Santana. I need you," Brittany fiercely whispered, canting her hips in search of friction.

Santana adjusted herself, bringing their clothed centers together. Her hot breath whispered in Brittany's ear, "Can I have you like this?"

"God," Brittany pushed herself into Santana, slowly circling her hips up, while Santana pressed her pelvis against Brittany. "Yes, please."

As much as Brittany hated when Santana went away, she loved it when Santana returned. Usually, their first time having sex after a long break would mean that one or both of them was so needy that they'd grind against one another like horny teenagers until they were panting, sweaty, and waking the neighbors. By the end, their underwear was soaked through and the smell of sweat and arousal filled the room. In Brittany's mind, there was no better way to reconnect.

Brittany hooked her legs behind Santana's back and worked her hips higher. Sweat dripped off of Santana's forehead and into the nape of Brittany's neck, where Santana had buried her head. Brittany's hands rhythmically squeezed Santana's behind, urging her to move faster.

"I'm close," Santana gritted through her teeth, quickly rocking her hips in up and down against Brittany. Brittany's cheap IKEA bed squeaked as she worked her hips faster. She pulled her head out of Brittany's neck and looked down to find the blonde's eyes closed, mouth open, and head pushed back. Her face getting more and more red as she fought for air.

Brittany's hips jutted up, hitting just the right spot as Santana let out a guttural moan. Her body froze in its position, pushing flush against Brittany.

For a few minutes, the two lay engulfed in one another. Santana's flushed face pressed into Brittany's chest, glistening with sweat. When Brittany felt the strength to move, she pushed Santana's sweaty hair off of her face and kissed her forehead.

"I have some good news," Santana finally shared.

"Oh?"

"The label wants me to do a full-scale tour. With choreography. And music videos." She smiled into Brittany's neck.

Brittany pushed Santana up to look into her eyes. "That's amazing Santana!"

"Will you be my choreographer?"

"Of course!" Brittany pulled her into a tight hug.

"Will you come on tour with me?"

Brittany pulled her back again, face puzzled. "Really?"

"Yeah. I really do want you on tour with me Britt. You're an amazing choreographer and dancer. You're my best friend. I need you."

Brittany's face remained puzzled for a moment, awaiting more from Santana. Having sex on and off for nearly eight years, but just as a best friend. Brittany sighed, then bit her bottom lip. "Yeah, ok, I'm in." From high school, through college, and after, Brittany still couldn't say no to this girl.

... ...

Teenage Santana's bedroom was completely dark except for a desk light illuminating silhouettes on the wall and the blue light of the computer. Her bed was pushed against the wall, leaving an open space and two chairs in the middle of the floor.

"Britt, this is gonna be awesome. It has to be perfect."

Brittany smiled, eyes glancing over to Santana who was wearing a black sweatsuit to match her own white sweats. Brittany had choreographed a dance, complete with sexy chair dancing a la Britney Spears, for their favorite song of the past, "Red Light Special," by TLC. Santana had been playing around with the mixing on her computer and figured out a way to drop the vocal track so that she could sing it live. Brittany had been prancing around her room, in the meantime, telling Santana she had the perfect dance moves for the song.

They spent an hour practicing in Santana's room before she ran downstairs to the living room to swipe the video camera and tripod.

"Santana, what are you two doing up there?"

"Just making a music video, mom."

"Well don't erase your little brother's soccer game from the camera, I haven't put it on the computer yet."

"Whatever, mom," Santana yelled as she slammed her door. Her teenage years seemed to be filled with "whatevers" and slammed doors, so she heard no complaints from mom.

Santana sat on the chair, straddling its back and facing the camera, her head lowered and hood raised. Brittany put a red pillow cover over the desk light, shading the room a dark red.

Santana popped her head up in excitement, "Oh that's so great, Britts! C'mon, let's do this."

Brittany flicked the camera to record and double clicked on the track before joining Santana on the second chair, taking the same position.

The music keyed up and Santana and Brittany bobbed their heads slowly in unison. As the lyrics came in, Santana pushed her head up, seductively singing into the camera. Brittany continued to bob her head in time to the beat as Santana sang the opening verse.

When the chorus kicked in, Brittany stood, moving behind Santana. She pulled the singer back and so that her back rested against her abs. With one hand, she pulled Santana's hood off and with the other she unzipped the front of Santana's hoodie, revealing a black bikini top. Brittany's fingers traced their way back up Santana's bare midriff, causing Santana to suck in a breath.

Santana stood suddenly, toppling the chair to the ground. "Shit! Dammit, Britt!"

The music continued to play loudly as Santana whirled around to face Brittany, zipping her hoodie back up. "I can't concentrate on singing when you're doing that to me."

"Doing what? We practiced this part." Brittany's brows knitted in confusion. She was shouting at Santana to be heard above the music.

"You fingers are like...they're...I can't do that. We need to change the choreography."

"No, Santana! You said I was the choreographer. You can't just be in charge of everything."

"Yes, Britt. This is my house, my song, and you're my choreographer."

"No. I'm not." Brittany grabbed her backpack from beside Santana's desk and stalked out of the room, slamming the door behind her.

Santana turned the music off and threw herself on the bed in the corner of the room. She buried her face in her pillow and screamed into it.


	3. Chapter 3

_I've Imagined It All_

**Chapter 3**

"Ok, Britt, here's my vision..."

Santana and Brittany sat huddled in Santana's dining room, floor to ceiling windows overlooking the Pacific Ocean. Sketches were splayed across the table and Santana's computer and speakers were set atop it.

"Well, let me hear the song first, San. It's new? I thought I'd heard all of your songs."

"Yeah, it's new. I wrote it on the plane. The label heard some of the new stuff and I'm going to re-release my debut album with four bonus tracks and a remix." Santana busied herself on the computer, searching for what would be her next single.

"I think you're gonna come up with some amazing things for this song, Britts. It's a booty-shaker, like you love." Santana smiled, searching Brittany's eyes before double-clicking on the song.

"What's it called?"

"End of Time. Listen."

Santana cued up the music.

_Come take my hand I won't let you go _

_I'll be your friend I will love you so deeply _

_I will be the one to kiss you at night _

_I will love you until the end of time _

_I'll be your baby I promise not to let you go _

_Love you like crazy say you'll never let me go _

_Say you'll never let me go _

_Say-say you'll never let me go _

_Say you'll never let me go _

_Say-say you'll never let me go_

Santana looked over at Brittany to see her eye closed, bobbing her head to the music. Santana's heart jumped as she thought about the emotion behind the song. It was written on her plane ride home from the European solo tour, almost three months earlier, just after she'd ruffled Brittany's feathers about not bringing her along on the tour. She wondered if Brittany had any idea.

As the song ended, she looked back to Brittany who was biting her lip and looking back into Santana's eyes.

The room fell silent.

Santana cringed. "Well?"

"Amazing. It's perfect."

Brittany stood and moved behind Santana, enveloping her in a hug from behind and letting her wavy hair drape over the brunette's. She reached out and cupped Santana's cheek, turning her head and pulling her into a searing kiss. "End of time. It's perfect."

Santana's brown eyes searched Brittany's blue. She thought she could almost see a smirk on her face.

Santana turned back to the kitchen table, diving back into business. "Ok, so here's what I'm thinking for the video. So it's basically just a fun love song. Maybe we could do a club atmosphere. I see someone from across the bar and we get cozy. When the chorus kicks in, dancers come in and we do a big choreographed dance. I really liked the 'Til the World Ends' and 'Motivation' videos, so I'm thinking something along those lines. Like dark, sweaty, sexy club look. I don't know, what do you think?"

"Sounds great, but you know, have you talked to the label? They always seem to have something to say to you, San. You know they're always meddling."

Santana sighed. "Well they have gotten me this far. Let's get a concrete idea down and let me take it to them. I've got an idea of what they're looking for anyway."

Four hours, a few shots of Patron, about fifteen more plays of the song, an impromptu dance party, and a stolen kiss later and a concrete idea was in the books. On the thirteenth or so listen, Brittany danced around the room, showing Santana her idea for the choreographed dance. On the fourteenth listen, Santana had drawn a set design and written down a few key reminders for the meeting with the label. On the fifteenth listen, she walked up behind Brittany, lost in the beat, placed one hand on her hip, pulled the hair from her neck and ran her tongue from the base of her neck to just under her ear. "This is good, babe. Let's go to bed."

In the middle of the night, Santana pulled on a robe and stalked back out to the kitchen table to review the plan. Next to her reminders she jotted: "eight male dancers, two female," and "sexy male lead - hot model type." She folded the papers into her laptop and packed the computer into her bag for the next day's meeting with the label. They'd be sure to like her most late-night additions to the video concept.

... ...

A few hours later, teenage Santana awoke to ruffled hair and a disoriented room. She pushed her bed back to its central position and stowed all remnants of the botched TLC video. Before returning the camera, she hooked it into her computer and uploaded the thirty second music video she and Brittany had attempted.

Santana studied it. The shock in her face was apparent as Brittany ran her fingers up Santana's chest. She replayed it a few times, studying Brittany this time. Britts seemed to have a different look on her face, but she couldn't quite assign an emotion to it. Santana knew that the rehearsals they'd had prior to the filming did not look or feel like this one caught on tape.

She threw herself back on the bed and reached for her phone, dialing a familiar number.

"I'm sorry."

She heard a sigh on the other end.

"You're right. I can't be in charge of everything. Can you come back over?"

"Santana." Brittany was fed up.

"I want to talk to you Britt," she pleaded in a whisper. "No stupid music video or dancing. I just want to talk."

Another sigh. "Fine. I'll be over in a bit."

Santana clicked her phone off and turned her face into the pillow, letting out a muffled groan. She flipped herself back and forth over the next twenty minutes, wringing her hands and wiping her sweaty palms on her sweats. Jumping up, she decided to busy herself with her music. She swept through her playlist looking for a perfect song, yet decided on an unconventional choice.

A soft knock echoed through her dark room. She broke her eyes from the computer screen and paused the music, turning the knob to allow Brittany entry. Brittany had changed out of her sweats and into a worn t-shirt and flannel pajama pants, her hair pulled into a messy bun.

She took a seat on Santana's bed, while Santana perched herself, legs pulled to her chest, in her computer chair.

"What do you want to talk about?"

"I'm sorry," Santana whispered, looking down. "Sometimes I take you for granted Brittany. But you're my best friend and I can't be without you."

"You frustrate me so...so much sometimes, Santana. I want everything for you. I know you are so talented and smart and you're going to be a star. I just want to be beside you, helping you. You can't do everything yourself." Brittany was looking at the ceiling, her face flushed like she was trying to hold back tears.

"I wrote a song. Can I sing it to you?" Santana looked up from the floor to meet Brittany's watery blue eyes. All Brittany could do was nod.

Santana pulled a guitar from her closet and sat back at her computer desk.

_Dancin' where the stars go blue _

_Dancin' where the evening fell _

_Dancin' in your wooden shoes _

_In a wedding gown _

_Dancin' out on 7th street _

_Dancin' through the underground _

_Dancin' little marionette _

_Are you happy now? _

_Where do you go when you're lonely _

_Where do you go when you're blue _

_Where do you go when you're lonely _

_I'll follow you _

_When the stars go blue _

_Laughing with your pretty mouth _

_Laughing with your broken eyes _

_Laughing with your lover's tongue _

_In a lullaby_

_Where do you go when you're lonely _

_Where do you go when you're blue _

_Where do you go when you're lonely _

_I'll follow you _

_When the stars go blue _

_The stars go blue, stars go blue_

The guitar fell silent and Santana looked up. Tears fell freely down Brittany's face. Santana propped the guitar next to her desk and sat down on the bed next to Brittany. Using the back of her hand she gently wiped the tears from Brittany's face.

"Why are you crying?" She whispered haltingly, unsure of whether she really wanted the answer.

Brittany took a moment to find her voice. "You know why," she choked out. "You wrote that?"

"Uh huh. Yeah." Santana whispered, looking back down at the ground ashamed.

Brittany reached up to cup Santana's cheek and force eye contact.

"You wrote that for me?"

Santana's heart jumped. She searched Brittany's eyes. Her head slowly nodded. "Yes," she said unsteadily.

"Why?"

"Why what Britt?"

Brittany looked startled, afraid that she was losing the soft, sensitive Santana of the last ten minutes to the hardened Santana she'd known most of her life.

"Why would you write a song for me, Santana?"

Santana lunged into Brittany, forcing her lips on the blonde's. She felt Brittany's startled gasp in her mouth. Brittany's hands pushed at her, using her strong arms to push the smaller girl off.

Brittany was stunned, staring at Santana, who now had her head buried in her hands, sobbing growing more and more uncontrollable.

"I just want to understand, San." She reached out to put her hand over Santana's. "Just talk to me please."

Santana pushed her hand away, but relented. Though tears still washed over her face, she jutted out her jaw and spoke angrily. "Fine. This is going to fuck everything up, but fine Brittany. I feel something for you. I can't tell what it is. All I know is that when I write songs, all I can think about is you. And when you touch me, like you touched me earlier, my mind goes fuzzy and I can't think straight. And when you get close to me I kind of lose my breath. I know that you are the most beautiful, amazing dancer I have ever seen. And I know that I could watch you dance until the day that I die." Words spilled out of her at a quickening pace. "And I know that if I ever become famous, I want you near me. And if you can't be near me, then, like the song says, 'I'll follow you.' But now, you probably don't want that because it was like the creepiest, gayest thing that anyone has ever said."

Santana rolled her eyes at her confession and stood up to open the door. The hallway light shone through. "I'll see you at school or something, I guess."

Brittany's mouth gaped open as she stood, still too shocked to say anything. She slowly moved toward the door. Santana, seeing that she was actually leaving, stared at the ground, trying her best not to start crying again until she'd left. Instead, Brittany put her hand over Santana's and shut the door, leaving them in a dimly lit room staring at one another. With her hand still on Santana's, she pulled it toward her chest.

"Feel," she whispered. Santana felt Brittany's heart pounding through her t-shirt. Her breath came in gasps that gently landed on Santana's cheeks. Santana looked into her eyes.

With her other hand, Brittany cupped her face, using her thumb to stroke Santana's cheek. She looked from Santana's eyes to her lips, eventually licking her own in anticipation. Slowly, she leaned down and used her hand to tilt Santana's face upward. Her lips lightly touched Santana's, then deepened the kiss, gliding her tongue against Santana's lips, seeking entry. Before long she realized that she was losing air and pulled back to breathe, resting her forehead against the shorter girl's.

She whispered, "Sing it again." Santana pulled back, smiling, and reached for her guitar.

**AN: The fact is, professionals write better songs than lowly fanfiction authors. Get over it and just pretend Santana wrote them.**


	4. Chapter 4

"I've Imagined It All"

**Part 4**

Bass echoed through the rented concert hall Santana's label purchased for rehearsals. The tour was set to begin in less than a week and Santana was still without her favorite piano, a decent large-scale sound system, and choreography for her newest song. That is to say, the choreography existed, but Santana had yet to fully rehearse it.

A week prior, Brittany had received approval from the label for the choreography. She played the role of Santana and, with three back-up dancers in tow, met with executives to ensure label approval. As a relatively successful choreographer in Hollywood, she had never had to get pre-show approval from a label. She struggled to imagine how tense Santana's private meetings with them might be. No wonder Santana felt the need to hash out every bit of her career and personal life.

"Ok, cue up 'End of Time' guys," Santana called to the band. Her hair was tied back in a bandana. Sweat glistened on her biceps and soaked through the back of her t-shirt.

As the beat kicked in, male dancers dropped to the floor, muscles rippling as they gyrated to the rhythm. With the horns, Brittany and the other female dancer strutted up to Santana, running their hands across her body. The lights suddenly flashed onto Santana, who stood aloof in the middle of the stage.

"Cut!" She yelled, throwing her hands up. "Shit!" Echoed across the arena. "Take five everyone, I need to figure this out. Britt!"

Blue eyes met her own from backstage, where Brittany was talking with the dancers. As she neared closer to Santana, she could read the frustration in her face and braced herself.

"Remind me," Santana said curtly.

Brittany set her water bottle at the front of the stage and took the mic from Santana's hands. Santana stepped ahead of her and turned around to face her, attention rapt at every move. When Brittany's body dipped to the floor, Santana nodded, nearly dipping herself as the choreography came back to her memory.

"Ok, let's go again."

Santana counted the band off. Male dancers swept around the stage. Brittany and the other female dancer grazed their hands across her before settling in with the male dancers. Just as Santana and the dancers dropped into the synchronized dip, Santana lost her balance, microphone cascading to the floor with a loud thump.

The music cut off and two dancers rushed to help her up.

"Fuck it. We're done for today. Tomorrow. 9 am."

As the dancers cleared the stage and band members dismantled equipment, Santana sat at the edge of the stage, jaw thrust out and teeth grinding. Sweat still poured off of her face. Her eyes remained glued to the upper balcony, lost in her seething thoughts.

"I'm gonna go home, Santana. Tomorrow?" Brittany said quietly, just loud enough for the singer to hear. She stood about ten feet from her, almost as if the anger would burn into her if she got any closer. She stared at the back of Santana's head only to keep staring, awaiting a response that would not come. After almost a minute of waiting for an answer she quietly collected her things from backstage and drove home. 

A key rustled in her door not two hours later.

"Britt?" echoed through her small apartment.

She stepped out of her room, towel still thrown around her body, wet hair falling at her shoulders to find Santana meekly standing in her kitchen.

"Hi. I didn't expect you." Brittany's faced was a mix of confusion and frustration.

"Sorry. I just...you gave me the key and I..." Santana's voice was small.

"What's up?" Brittany folded her legs under on the couch and patted a seat for Santana.

"I don't know. I'm angry. I'm frustrated. I'm excited. Everything is just too much right now." Santana heaved a sigh as she took a seat next to Brittany, her arm resting atop the back of the couch.

Brittany stared back in silence.

"Sorry for lashing out today." Santana's hand found the warmth of her own. She looked up to find Santana's eyes searching.

"I want you to be so good, San. But sometimes you make me feel like the smallest person in the world. I don't know how else to explain it."

"I'm sorry, Britt. I'll be better, I promise. I'll do...something. I don't know." Her voice trailed off exasperatedly.

After a few moments, Brittany's hand relaxed, tracing familiar patterns against Santana's fingers, down to her arm and back.

"I don't know how you have survived for as long as you have, Santana. You get frustrated so easily and you just lose it. Remember our music video days in high school? I don't think we finished a single one of them." Brittany smiled, hoping for a similar reaction from her. "In fact, if you fast-forwarded all of the tapes to the end, I bet on each one of them it's you yelling 'Shit!' or 'Britt, I told you...'"

Santana stared down at the carpet, but a smile crept onto her face. "But I've made it. I mean, it's not like I give up when I get frustrated."

"Yeah, well, why is that?"

Santana looked up from the carpet, her bottom lip between her teeth as she pondered the answer. "After each time, this happens."

"What do you mean 'this'?"

"Well, I basically beg you to talk to me again because I've been such a pathetic jerk. Then you sit and listen and tell me I'm great. And then I feel good again."

Brittany laughed, eyes meeting Santana's and her hand now atop Santana's thigh. "Ok, Santana, you're great! Now how do you feel?"

"Maybe I left something out. I mean, I bitch to you. You listen. You tell me I'm great, but you also make me feel great. Like no one is better than me. You don't just say it. I mean, I _feel_ it when I'm with you, Britt."

Puzzled blue eyes now searched her own. "I don't know what I do to make you feel it, San. What do I do?"

"Well, usually we...uh," she gulped, her voice trailing off. Brittany's brow was knitted as she looked up again. "I mean...uh...can we go talk about it in your bedroom?"

"Why can't we talk about it in here?" Brittany looked around the room, in search of a spy or bug or some reason that their conversation wasn't private.

Santana looked back at her, face wrought with frustration and desire.

"Oh. Oh yeah. Oh we can talk about it in there," a smile plastered to her face as she excitedly jumped off the couch, pulling Santana behind her.

...

"Santana, Quinn wants us to join the Glee Club with her. Something about Finn and singing and that annoying Jewish-looking girl. I walked by their rehearsal yesterday before Cheerios and they were dancing and it looks like so much fun."

Brittany could feel Santana's wrath fuming through the other end of the phone. "I'm not joining the gay club."

"No, San, it's the Glee Club."

"I know Britt, but everyone in it is capital G-A-Y. I'm not gonna join that loser club, I don't care what Quinn says."

"But Santana," Brittany whined, "You can get so much more practice with your singing. People will actually start to recognize how good you are."

"I don't need them, Britt. I've got you. It doesn't matter anyway, this conversation is over."

"No. You said you'd follow me. In that song you wrote, you said it. Well I'm going. You need to follow me this time."

Santana paused. She wracked her mind for a way of sidestepping the lyrics to the song she wrote Brittany and the verbal vomit that came after as she tried so desperately to keep a grasp on her best friend. A response never came to mind. Instead, she hung up. 

The next morning, Brittany was not at her locker waiting to be walked to first period. Halfway through lunch, when she couldn't take it anymore, she asked Quinn where Brittany was only to find out that this _would_ be the day Brittany cared about getting extra help in Biology. At Cheerios practice, she concocted a plan to drop Brittany from the pyramid, just so that she could get her attention before realizing that she'd probably end up breaking her neck. By the end of practice, complete desperation ensued when Brittany caught a ride home with some freshman Cheerio's mom instead of jumping in her car.

When Brittany arrived at home, Santana was on her porch. She huffed past the girl, avoiding eye contact. As she stood at the door fumbling with her keys, Santana spoke to her back, hand grasping at her elbow.

"Britt, I'm sorry. Can we talk?"

"No."

"What do you want me to say? I'll join the stupid club, is that it?"

"Go away, Santana."

The door finally budged. Brittany squeezed inside, shutting Santana out. For a few moments, she stood, just looking at the door, incredulous to the fact that Brittany would not listen. Brittany always listened. Brittany always let her in. All she had to do was apologize. She sat on the steps, wishing she had just agreed to join in the first place.

A few hours later, Santana found herself still on Brittany's front step as Mrs. Pierce's car pulled up the driveway.

"Santana, Brittany should be inside, come on in."

"Thanks, Mrs. Pierce, but I think Britt's mad at me."

Brittany's mom placed a grocery bag on the porch swing and sat down next to Santana.

"What are you two fighting about this time?"

"She wants to join this club at school and I don't really want to, but she really wants me to."

"You two are always bickering, ever since you first met. I know Brittany follows you around most times, but she can be quite strong-willed, too." Brittany's mom smiled.

"I know," Santana said, smiling back.

The door suddenly opened. Brittany stood in the threshold, hair wet from a shower. "Mom, don't talk to her, I'm mad at her. Santana, go home."

Mrs. Pierce stood, collecting her grocery bag and purse.

"Now Brittany, Santana has been sitting here for a few hours waiting for you to talk to her. Come on out here and talk."

"Mom," Brittany whined, yet made her way to the front step to sit down. The door closed behind her, leaving just the two girls sitting side by side on the front porch.

"I will follow you, Britt. I promised and I will." Santana turned to look at her, but Brittany's eyes were on the concrete path in front of them.

"Why is everything a fight?"

"I'm just used to getting things my way. But then when you want something different, and I take the time to think about it for a second, in the end all I really want is to be around you." Brittany's eyes looked up to meet her own.

She reached out to pull Brittany's hand in her own and up to cover her heart.

"Feel." Her heart thudded through the Cheerios uniform.

Brittany smiled and whispered in response, "For me?"

"Always for you."


	5. Chapter 5

"I've Imagined It All"

**Part 5**

Chicago. Another day, another city. Nine times out of ten, Santana, the dancers, and the band would arrive in the morning after the set equipment had traveled all night. The tour manager would check everyone into the hotel, and the star quickly escorted up to her room through the hotel's back entrance. Somehow, in the age of social media, rabid fans had figured out every single hotel for each tour stop.

Once upstairs, Santana would crash into her bed, catching as much sleep as possible. Sometimes, under the cover of a wig or unassuming outfit, she would sneak out of the hotel and onto the streets to explore, pulling just one bodyguard with her in case of an emergency. She'd stop by some attractions, have a light lunch, or just walk. Her mother always made the Lopez family walk anywhere within reason when they'd go on vacation. She just remembered something about it being "the best way to explore a city."

At one p.m., invariably, the fun ended. A knock would come at her door and she'd be whisked away. Another press conference, another meet and greet, a photoshoot, an interview with the local papers. She understood the reason behind it all. She wanted to be a star and now she was. Plus, the label insisted that this was the type of work that was necessary to get a Grammy nomination. Somehow, press factored in. In any case, she was grateful that she didn't have to leave the hotel to do it.

At around three, the press would end and she'd get another hour or two alone in her hotel room. On some days, she wrote for her next album. Other days she slept. After a particularly frustrating press conference one day, she tossed pillows around the room, afraid to literally destroy the room in true rock star fashion.

The last half hour before sound check, Brittany would find her. On the first day of the tour, she'd called Brittany and asked her to come up. Somehow, every day after that, Brittany just knew. Brittany would sit behind her, back against the headboard, Santana facing forward between her legs. They'd watch TV, or talk, or listen to music (anything but Santana's music) and Brittany would hold her hand, occasionally tracing patterns against her fingers, calloused from playing the guitar.

That half hour always ended up feeling like two minutes to Santana. Before she knew it, she was with the band, onstage, running through a couple songs halfheartedly to make sure that the sound guy was on his game.

Just before the show, in her dressing room, after her makeup was all done and her lineup of outfits for the night in order, Brittany would quietly sneak in, pull her into her arms, kiss her, and whisper in her ear, "You're great." Her fears would wash away and a quiet confidence took over.

On "End of Time" and the other "booty-shakers," Santana was hitting every move and note to a deafening roar of applause. When the stage cleared and her favorite piano was wheeled out, she brought the house down. One song from the rereleased album particularly impressed, "One and Only." She'd written it, just like "End of Time," on the plane ride home from her European solo tour. On the first night of the concert, it'd been stuck in the middle of the line-up. The next night, the tour manager had moved it to the encore.

She never saw Brittany on the first night that she'd played it. Maybe because of its placement. Brittany probably was catching her breath from the previous performance. And she wasn't one hundred percent sure that Brittany caught the entire performance every night after, but each night, as the show ended, she'd open her eyes and catch penetrating blue eyes looking at her from the side of the stage.

Brittany never said a word about the song. She only watched as Santana poured her heart into it. Initially, she'd been restrained singing it, but when it got moved to the encore she knew that she could let loose. Her eyes closed, she rocked with the beat, her voice broke on more than one occasion. And always, when it was finished, she found those blue eyes.

Those same blues eyes peered through the peephole at her hotel room door each night, too. Santana had never called Brittany to sleep with her. In fact, the first night of the tour, Brittany didn't come to her room at all. But every night after, she would arrive in sweats and a t-shirt, wavy hair draping down her back, makeup wiped clean. Santana would let her in, always to be greeted by a unrestrained kiss, a push onto the bed, and a dominance from Brittany that Santana had to admit she loved. (Though she never admitted it openly, Brittany could just tell from her breathy moans and white knuckles.)

They'd awake early the next morning, a mess of tangled limbs. Anywhere from three a.m. to five a.m. the bus would load up and they'd be off to the next city. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.

...

It had certainly taken her long enough to sing a song to Brittany in front of the entire Glee Club. The trouble this time was that Santana would never admit it was directed at her, despite Rachel's knowing eyes, Puck's smirk, Finn's dropped jaw, and Quinn's look of disgust.

"Wow, Santana, you really have some chops," Mr. Shue chimed in lamely when the song finished. While Rachel and Mercedes shot her venomous looks indicating they'd have some competition for the senior Glee season, the rest of the club stared wide-eyed at Santana, who appeared to have let down the fortresses long enough to show some public emotion to her private girlfriend.

Instead of sticking around for any more lackluster comments, jealousy, or prying from the other members of the club, Santana chose to exit, leaving the group in a state of confusion. Their eyes turned to Brittany, sitting front and center, mouth agape, blush spread so far across her face that her ears were turning red. As she became more aware of the situation, tears came to her eyes. With the first tear running down her cheek, she stood and rushed out the other door, toward the bathroom.

That night, Brittany sat by the phone, waiting for Santana to call. Whenever there were tears, Santana called. Santana apologized, or confessed, or whatever she needed to do to make them go away. Brittany wasn't sure what Santana needed to do to make them go away this time.

When she woke in the morning, she reached for her phone. No new messages. In times of trouble, Brittany always had one solution: dance. The Saturday morning classes at the studio didn't start until nine. She grabbed her bag.

Classical music echoed through the empty room. At every turn, Brittany saw herself in the mirror, leaping, toes pointed, spinning, all grace and elegance. Sweat collected at her brow. Her eyes closed as she lost herself in the music.

When it ended, she took a seat against the wall, mind flooding again with Santana's emotional performance from the day before. It had been one of Mr. Shue's "original songs" challenges. Santana had insisted on doing it alone. Brittany never asked her about. She never pried. But when the song was done and tears were running down her cheeks, she realized why. She knew what the song was going to be about before Santana ever sat down at the piano.

"Your mom said you'd be here," a familiar voice startled her from her thoughts. She turned to see Santana peering in through the doorway.

"How long have you been here?"

"Long enough to know that you're gonna be famous one day for that dancing." She smiled shyly. Brittany stood and collected her things from the wall.

"Walk me home?"

"Yeah." Santana took her hand. Brittany could only stare as she interlaced their fingers and stepped out onto the street.

They walked the fifteen minutes back to Brittany's house in silence, Santana interested only in her sandals and Brittany, mouth agape, looking at Santana in disbelief every thirty seconds or so.

They took their familiar seats on the front porch of the Pierce residence, Brittany's fingers still locked in Santana's.

"San, what's going..."

Before Brittany could finish, Santana's lips were on hers. Her other hand cupping her cheek. She could feel what could only be Santana's tears dropping onto her own cheeks. When she tried to pull away, Santana leaned her forehead against Brittany's, searching her eyes.

She so badly wanted to ask Santana about the song, to confirm what she knew to be true. But looking into Santana's eyes now, she realized that it might break her to confront the emotion any more. Instead, Brittany pulled her into a tight hug and whispered in her ear, "I love you too."


	6. Chapter 6

"I've Imagined It All"

**Part 6**

Brittany clenched Santana's hands in her own, her forehead awkwardly pressed against the shorter girl's so that their graduation mortarboards were near toppling off of their heads. Her eyes were closed and tears ran down her cheeks and over Santana's.

Santana felt a million eyes on her as she stood in the middle of the gymnasium. She opened one to take a peak around, unwilling to let Brittany go, but also willing to let anyone intrude on their moment. When she was sure that they were safe, she pulled back slightly to comfort Brittany.

"We have all summer still, you know," covered by Brittany's wavy blonde locks, Santana placed a discrete kiss to the hollow of her neck.

"Yeah, but, then you're gonna be in New York and.."

"And you'll come visit," soothing fingertips ran along the veins on Brittany's hands. "I have a single and you'll come visit whenever you want. Between all of your auditions and dance classes and rehearsals and visiting me, you're gonna be busy."

"But everything's going to be different."

"Yeah, kind of, but we're growing up. That doesn't mean you're not my best friend, Britt. You'll always be my best friend. Nothing's going to change that." The weight of the crowd's eyes moved in on her, tearing her from Brittany's grasp and out of reach. Santana's eyes turned the same cold, dull brown Brittany knew only to be reserved for her seething insults.

"We're not, like, _together_, or anything, Brittany. It shouldn't be hard," she whispered harshly.

"Well, we're not _not_ _together_ either, Santana." Brittany fiercely returned, not caring who heard.

...

The buzz of her phone pulled Santana from her dreams. Her arms unraveled around Brittany and reached blindly for the nightstand.

"Yeah," she said groggily, pulling the phone away for a moment to see exactly whose call she'd answered. Her manager.

"Santana. Turn on E! Grammy nominations. You're gonna want to see it." Click.

Her heart suddenly raced as she shot out of bed to turn on the television. Clad in only a pair of underwear and one of Brittany's dance t-shirts, she perched at the foot of the bed.

"San?" Brittany wiped at her eyes and checked the time. "But the bus doesn't leave until eight. We have today off, remember?" She rolled over, intent on sleeping her morning away.

"Shh, Britt."

On screen, Santana saw two C-list musicians opening envelopes against a blue curtain backdrop in what was clearly some makeshift press room at a hotel. The ticker along the bottom showed the nominees already announced: Best Hip-Hop Album, Best Soundtrack, Best Classical Album.

"Next, we have the nominees for Best New Artist."

Her heart fluttered as they read through two of the nominees.

"Santana Lopez."

Without bothering to listen to the rest of the nominees, she shrieked and hopped atop the bed, jumping and nearly hitting her head on the low ceiling.

"Santana, what..." Brittany rolled over again but was nearly smothered when Santana dropped mid-jump next to her and pulled her into a tight hug.

"Britts! I'm nominated for a Grammy!"

"What?" It was now Brittany's turn to lose it. She whooped with joy and pulled Santana back up to jump on the bed with her. If anyone had walked into Santana's hotel room at that instant they would have seen two scantily-clad grown women jumping on the bed with reckless abandon. Brittany grabbed her hands and twirled Santana until she fell back on the bed and Brittany fell on top of her, kissing her passionately. When she pulled away, she saw tears flooding Santana's eyes.

"What's wrong babe?"

"I just...I never thought that this...you remember the stupid songs I used to write, and the music videos? Remember fucking Glee club? I never thought that this would happen," Santana choked out through her tears. As soon as a tear spilled from her eyes, Brittany's hand would reach up to wipe it away.

"Of course I remember, Santana, I've been there for everything. You might not have thought that this would happen, but I always knew." Brittany smiled at her genuinely and Santana felt the urge to pull her so close that she was one with her and push her far, far away all at once. She broke eye contact and looked out the window toward the skyline of the city. Her fingers ran through her hair, lost in her thoughts.

"San, come back to me. What's up?" Brittany's palm cupped her cheek, pulling her back to make eye contact. Santana sat up, reaching for her phone.

"Nah. Nothing. I need to make some calls Britt. Can we talk later? I'll see you on the bus." 

* * *

><p>But Brittany didn't see her on the bus. As the band, dancers, and crew pulled off for the next city on the tour, Santana was camped up in her hotel room, awaiting another press conference set up by the label. Her manager, her agent, and representatives from the label were due into the city within the hour for a meeting prior to the press conference, no doubt to instruct her on her every move and word for the next two months.<p>

"Santana, congratulations!" A team of five crowded into her hotel room bearing bottles and champagne flutes.

Santana put on her best celebrity face and smiled broadly, "Oh the congratulations goes just as much to this wonderful team! Thank you all for helping me achieve this level of success. I could not have made it here without such a fabulous group!"

"I'll drink to that," a label executive chimed in, as a bottle popped open and champagne fizzed into the flutes.

"So, three nominations, huh? Feels good, right?" Santana nodded and smiled at her manager. "Best New Artist, Best Pop Solo Performance for 'One and Only' - I knew that one would be a hit, right? And Record of the Year for 'One and Only.' Amazing!"

Glasses clinked again, as the group sipped champagne.

"So," one of the record executives began, Santana wasn't sure she recognized him, "We wanted to come here to talk a little bit about what your press is going to need to be like in the weeks leading up to the Grammys. The label thinks that the way you do press should change. Let's see," he seemed to be searching for the correct words as Santana studied him with a restrained look. This wouldn't be the first time that her label had told her what to say and do in public. "Up until this point, we've gone for privacy. Everyone wants to know who Santana Lopez is and we've decided to give them nothing. No background, no boyfriends, nothing. We're going to shift gears here, and it might be a risk, but we want to make you more relatable."

Santana let out a shaky breath. Inside, her heart pounded. Outside, she could feel the slightest trickle of sweat run down her back. "Ok," she began, before getting cut off.

"Here's the image we're looking for: Santana Lopez, from a broken family in Lima Heights Adjacent, to young music prodigy in college, to a woman fighting for recognition in Hollywood and falling in love along the way. Does that sound about right?"

"Well," she began again and once again was cut off.

"Look, it doesn't need to be one hundred percent true. Just the slightest bit of accuracy is okay with us, as long as you're able to run with it."

"I just..." her celebrity facade failed her as she let out a deep breath she didn't realize she was holding in and pressed ahead, "I can run with the Lima Heights stuff, even though I would never call my family 'broken,' the college stuff is not a problem since I'd say that's accurate, but I don't know about the 'love' stuff."

Her eyes studied the reactions of the unfamiliar group surrounding her. "I get it," her manager and the most trusted member of her crew broke in. "Here's the problem: 'One and Only' is a love song. And it's up for two major awards. You're going to have to talk about it, probably a lot."

Santana hadn't considered that. Her mind flashed back to writing the lyrics on the ride home from her European tour. For almost three weeks after she'd landed, she doted on the song, perfecting the composition and adjusting lyrics to be perfect. But not perfect for her label. And not perfect so that she'd win a Grammy. Those were brilliant asides, there was no doubt about that. But just like nearly every other song she'd ever written, she couldn't confront the emotions behind the lyrics and she certainly wasn't willing to do it in public.

"I don't think I can," she answered honestly. Her face flushed red and she could feel the onslaught of tears coming on.

"Well," the team looked around at one another in frustration. Finally, her agent offered a quiet suggestion, "No one knows why it was written or who it was written for. That means you don't need to tell the truth. Just make something up."

The label executive's face washed over with excitement. "We can iron out the kinks of that right now." 

* * *

><p>When Brittany arrived in the next city, she flopped onto the bed in her hotel room, burying her face in the pillows. She hadn't heard from Santana and something just didn't feel right after the initial excitement of her nominations. She desperately wanted to speak with Santana.<p>

She flipped on the television, hoping that some background noise would ease her mind and put her into a dreamless sleep. Instead, she heard a familiar voice that brought her to attention. Santana was sitting face to face with some reporter from E! News. She looked beautiful in a black and red polka dot dress, high stiletto heels, and a bow tied neatly into her hair. Brittany thought she sensed the slight buzz of alcohol on Santana's flushed face.

"So, Santana, 'One and Only' has become a huge hit. It's received two Grammy nominations, including Record of the Year, one of the four major Grammys, as folks like to say. Can you talk to us a little bit about what inspired you to write this song? Or should I say, who?"

Santana smiled demurely, breaking eye contact and looking at the floor. Brittany could see the buzz of the alcohol more clearly as Santana seemed to answer the question unabashedly. She leaned forward, weight resting on her hands at the edge of the bed.

Brittany had been listening to Santana's original songs all of her life, from the very first song whispered in the darkness of Santana's room at fifteen years old, to her "Original Song" written in Glee Club at the age of eighteen, to her senior recital in college, to "End of Time," "One and Only," and the rest of her first album. Each time, Brittany inherently knew the intent behind the song. She felt it deep inside. Each song was Santana's way of saying "I love you," when her words failed her. The mark of a true musician, she supposed. Maybe that was why she could bear her misgivings so easily.

"I had a boyfriend..." Santana was still smiling as her eyes met the interviewer's. A dull buzz erupted in Brittany's mind, clouding the rest of Santana's words. She closed her eyes, leaned back against the headboard, and willed herself to sleep.


	7. Chapter 7

"I've Imagined It All"

**Part 7**

Summer vacation wasn't what Santana had imagined. She wanted to wake up every morning next to Brittany and go to sleep panting and exhausted every night. Instead, she pined in her room and waited. And waited. And waited. She wrote angst-ridden teenage love songs, only to throw them away within the hour.

Almost four weeks in, she broke. She stumbled to Brittany's house, mind cloudy from the alcohol she'd snuck from the family liquor cabinet. She knew that the Pierces wouldn't be home mid-day, so when no one answered the door the first time, she kept knocking and knocking.

After nearly ten minutes of desperation, she heard Brittany's muffled voice through the door. "Go away, Santana."

"Britt, please!"

"You're drunk, go away!"

"Why haven't you called me? I've called you every day and every night. D'you hear the song I sang on your answering machine?" Santana was slurring through the door, mouth pressed close to the opening.

"You said we weren't together."

For a few minutes, the only noise that could be heard was their heavy breathing reflecting off the door. Santana pressed her forehead into the dark wood and closed her eyes. Her mouth opened to yell again, but almost instantly shut as she turned and made the long walk back to the darkness of her bedroom.

...

She wished that she could feel relief now that the tour was over. A new city every day and perhaps four days off over the course of two months had taken its toll. A week ago, she was looking forward to this day. Now, she wished for another month of hell. At least it meant another month of Brittany dancing by her side. Over the course of the last week, she'd seen Brittany only on-stage, in the back of the tour bus, and in the hotel lobby. The late night hotel room visits, the drop-ins backstage, the shock of blue eyes during the encore had all disappeared.

Santana had tried talking to her. She tried texting her, calling her, stopping by her hotel room. She was never sure what she'd say to Brittany. This was what was best for her career and Brittany had to know that. Years and years and Brittany had understood and played along.

Though the tour was ending, one date remained: an appearance on NBC's Today show. Most of the touring group was sent home. She was only set to play two songs, so the band traveled on to New York with three dancers, including Brittany.

Standing backstage, Santana's clammy hands and perspiring forehead revealed her nerves. She'd thought after almost forty tour stops that this had passed. But within the last two weeks, since the nominations, the nerves bubbled back to the surface.

Just before her name was announced, she turned backstage to find Brittany staring straight ahead, mind somewhere else. She tried to make eye contact, smile even, but it all went unacknowledged. On stage, as the dancers and band hit every step and note, Santana tripped and dropped the microphone. When her piano was wheeled out to play her second song, she cursed at herself, only to have the mic pick it up and a collective gasp erupt from the crowd. She played an emotion-less song, willing it to end and be on her way home.

Only the interview stood in her way.

"Santana Lopez, the hottest new musician of the year, is here with us." The interviewer was all teeth and insincerity. "So, Santana, how does it feel to have risen to fame so quickly?"

Santana smiled arrogantly, wanting to cut through the bullshit. "Actually, I didn't rise to fame quickly. If you read the press packet, I've been writing and recording songs for almost five years." She ended abruptly and with another arrogant smile.

"Okay, um," the interviewer stumbled before regaining composure. "Well are you enjoying your rise to fame?"

"Sure."

"Alright. Tell us about your songs. 'One and Only' is far and away my favorite off the album."

"I've talked enough about that song."

"Okay then. Well you're nominated for three Grammys, how did it make you feel to have your name called?"

"Well of course it feels good."

"Great! Well, Santana Lopez, good luck at the Grammys and thank you so much for coming on the program today!"

When the cameras cut off, Santana turned away and stalked back to the dressing room to collect her things. She knew she just gave the worst interview of her life and that her manager, or the label, or both were going to have her head, but all she could think about was the comfort of her bed.

Packing in the hotel room, Santana heard a rap at the door.

"Lopez, we need to talk," her manager's voice boomed through the metal door. She dropped a t-shirt into the suitcase and went to let him in.

"What the hell, Santana? Are you trying to undo the past couple of weeks?"

Santana could only sigh.

"What do you need? What can we do? Because we need to fix this."

"I need some time off. I need to go home and not do any press, no concerts, no recordings, nothing."

"For how long?"

"As long as it takes."

"What about the rest of the press tour for the Grammys?"

"Were you watching today? Do you really think that's what's best?"

"Fine. We'll be in touch."

After he left, she sat on her bed, lost in thought. Here she was, a hit record and miserable. A successful nationwide tour and living a lie. Three Grammy nominations and she wanted was to go back to being Santana Lopez of Lima, Ohio. At least Santana Lopez of Lima, Ohio had Brittany Pierce in her life.

She grabbed her hotel key card and flew out the door, running to the end of the hall where the dancers and band were staying.

"B's not here."

"Haven't seen her."

"Please, I need to find her before we leave."

She finally ran into one of Brittany's best friends from the tour in the lobby. "Yeah, she was taking a walk over to Union Square Park. I don't think she wants you there though, Santana."

"I have to," Santana yelled as she burst onto a busy New York street.

Running in jeans and ballet flats turned out to be quite challenging. She stopped at a busy intersection to adjust her shoe only to hear her name quietly echoed though the crowd. She didn't have a disguise or a bodyguard to protect her this time. Instead, she took off running again, the park within view.

Even in the crowded park, Brittany caught her eye immediately. She jogged over to the bench and took a seat beside her, eyes closed and reeling to catch her breath. Brittany stared straight ahead, nearly emotionless except for a heavy sigh.

After a few moments, Santana turned to Brittany, attempting unsuccessfully to make eye contact.

"Will you please talk to me? Please, Britt."

"I've tried calling your room, texting you, going to your room, talking to your friends."

"Please, Brittany," Santana's voice was nearly a constant whine, "I need you. You make everything right in my life."

She still couldn't break Brittany. Tears came to her eyes. Her stomach dropped.

"I have messed up more this past week, without you, than I did the entirety of the tour."

"I can't fall asleep at night without you." At this, she reached out, desperate for a connection. If Brittany wouldn't talk to her, maybe she'd hold her hand.

Brittany fiercely pulled away and stood up, facing Santana.

"Stop. You are not the victim. You got yourself into this. How the hell do you think I feel when you go on TV and talk about some fake boyfriend who you wrote all your love songs for? How do you think I feel when we have sex - no make love, cause that's what it is - and then ten minutes later you're calling me your best friend? I'm sick of it Santana. I can't do this anymore. I put up with the best friend stuff and I don't know why, but now that you're lying, I can't take it any more."

Santana's face twisted in angry confusion. "I'm not lying, Britt. Who are you to tell me who I write my songs for? You don't know."

"Fuck you, Santana. The lies just keep on coming, don't they?" With that, Brittany's long strides took her out of the park and farther and farther away from Santana.

Santana closed her eyes, hoping that everything around her would disappear. She sat stark still, not moving, not breathing, not thinking. She couldn't tell how long she sat like that. With all of the talk and music humming through the park, it was a distant clicking that brought her back to reality - a familiar clicking. She opened her eyes to see a photographer from across the park focusing his large lens in her direction. How long had he been there?

* * *

><p>Tucked into the warmth of her down comforter at home, she cut herself off from the outside world. On day three, she nearly chucked her phone off her balcony and into the Pacific Ocean. There must be something in the press; she hadn't had that many calls in one day since her Grammy nominations. She turned it off, stowed it in the top drawer of her armoire, and nestled back into bed, closing her eyes and shutting herself off again.<p> 


	8. Chapter 8

"I've Imagined It All"

**Chapter 8**

The frenzy of going to college in New York City dulled her senses for a while. Parties, and Broadway, and voice lessons buzzed in and out, leaving little time for Brittany or grades. Only when she returned to Lima for winter break did the blonde creep back into her mind, eventually overwhelming her senses and leaving her craving for her like an addict. She couldn't go to the mall without thinking of the time Brittany stormed out on her for shoplifting and she had to call her mom to get a ride home. She couldn't go to the grocery store without thinking about the time she and Brittany got high and ate a whole bag of Doritos before they even got to the check-out. She couldn't sit in her room without thinking about the countless nights of Brittany writhing underneath of her, hovering over top of her, or nestled beside her.

Although she hadn't spoken to her in nearly six months, she knew that Brittany was a creature of habit. On Saturday morning, she woke up early to walk to the dance studio, guitar in hand. Peering in through the window on the door, she caught sight of her. Animal-print leotard, unmatched striped florescent leg warmers, and magenta tights, leg stretched out atop the bar. It took a few minutes before Santana recognized that there were about twelve other mini-Brittanys prancing through the room, as well. They couldn't have been older than seven. Whenever Brittany turned her back, they'd break from formation, topple over, and erupt in fits of tiny giggles. Brittany would turn back around, run her hands through her hair, and grin, encouraging the dancers-in-training all the more. By the end of the hour, the music was at full blast and chaos encompassed the room. Little legs haphazardly flew through the air, twirls melted into the floor, and Brittany, eyes closed and cut off from it all, floated between the little bodies, turning and spinning and dazzling Santana.

Although the entire troupe of dancers was unexpected, Santana knew that she might not have another chance. When the music cut off, she opened the door. Brittany's eyes grew wide. The little dancers stretching on the floor stopped and turned to see who had entered the room.

"Hi," she said to the crowd. "Do you guys know who Michael Jackson is?"

"Oohs," and "my mommy loves him" rang through the room.

"Ok, well I might need your help singing this song, if you guys know it."

The girls had now turned to give Santana their full attention. Brittany still sat wide-eyed and slightly nervous at the scene unfolding in front of her.

Santana began strumming.

_Tryin' to live without your love_

_Is one long sleepless night_

_Let me show you girl_

_That I know wrong from right_

_Every street you walk on_

_I leave tearstains on the ground_

_Following the girl_

_I didn't even want around_

_Let me tell you now_

"Ok now you guys have to help me." She shouted between strums.

A few of the girls jumped up, waggling their hips, while others joined in singing with Santana.

_Oh baby all I need is one more chance_

_(show you that I love you)_

_Won't you please let me_

_(back to your heart)_

_Oh darlin' I was blind to let you go_

_(let you go baby)_

_But now since I see you in his arms_

_I want you back_

Santana strummed to the end, then looked back over to Brittany. She was still sitting on the ground, but her knees were now folded up in front of her, arms resting atop them, and hands covering her face, wiping tears from her eyes.

"Everybody say, 'Thank you for being the best dance teacher ever, Ms. Brittany!'" The girls chimed in, echoing Santana's call.

"Everybody say, 'We love you, Ms. Brittany!'" Restlessly, the girls joined Santana again, shouting growing louder and louder.

"Thank you so much, girls!" Brittany said through tears as a few of the girls ran to give her hugs. "I'll see you guys next week."

As the room cleared slowly, Santana stood by the door, bidding farewell and thanking each dancer. When the room was empty, she found Brittany in the same position she had been in during the song, eyes once again covered and wiping away tears. Santana sat down in front of her and pulled her hands from her face, taking each hand in her own.

"I love you, Ms. Brittany," she smiled, only to be met with a smile from Brittany even through the tears.

"I miss you, Ms. Brittany," Santana's face turned serious and tears welled in her eyes now, too. At this, Brittany reached out and pulled Santana into a tight hug, inhaling deeply into the girl's hair. Since Santana had left Lima, Brittany's life had been busy - full of auditions, classes to take and classes to teach, and looking into dance companies - but every day, she thought of Santana. She couldn't recall how many times she had wished she could have just let Santana inside that one summer afternoon.

"I love you. And, I miss you too, Santana," she whispered into her hair. She pulled back to find tears running down Santana's face. Reaching her hand out, she wiped away a tear and cupped her cheek, drawing Santana's face closer to her own.

Santana rested her forehead against Brittany's, choking out, "I don't work when you're not in my life."

"I know."

"As soon as I'm done with college, we can be together. Like _together_ together, I promise. I just...we're so far away...and I'm not girlfriend material...and..."

"Shh, San, that's fine. I just want my best friend back." Brittany held out her pinky. Santana looked down and laughed through her tears, offering her own pinky in return.

...

So many more days passed that Santana hadn't even been able to keep track. She hadn't watched television, checked her email, or even turned her phone back on. She barely recognized herself in the mirror - face ashen and gaunt, dark circles fixed below her eyes, baggy clothing hanging loosely on her body. She had eaten almost nothing. When she found herself hungry enough to eat, it was a struggle in itself to find the strength to cook.

She slept for nearly sixteen hours each day. For the first few days, when she wasn't sleeping, she flipped through magazines trying to get her mind off of Brittany. Each magazine somehow had a tall, lithe blonde with blue eyes that forced her to close it prematurely. When the magazines didn't work, she attempted to read, but each character had a quirk that again reminded her of what she could not have. A few days in, she gave it all up. In the hours that she didn't sleep, she stared blankly into the Pacific Ocean from her bedroom balcony, willing the day to turn into the night, hoping that the next day would bring a change. If the next day didn't bring Brittany, maybe it would bring peace of mind. Neither ever happened.

An incessant knocking brought her hopes up full charge. She sprinted to the door, forgetting all about appearances. Brittany had held her hair back on more than one occasion in high school and in college when alcohol had gotten the best of her; her present state was a fit comparison. But when she opened the door, her heart collapsed. Her manager stood in front of her, sweaty from pounding on the door, but relief washed over his face.

"Oh thank God, Santana." Santana had forgotten her manners. She turned back toward the bedroom, leaving the door ajar.

She settled into her bed, turned sideways to stare again at the sea. Her manager sat on a bench, not directly in the line of sight, but at least within peripheral view so that if Santana chose to pay attention she simply needed to adjust her vision. He pulled a few papers out of his briefcase and spread them across the floor.

"Is this what this is about?"

Santana stared blankly ahead still.

"'US Magazine' and 'OK' ran these pictures three weeks ago. Pictures of you and Brittany, the tour choreographer? One has the title, 'Lover's Quarrel?' the other says, 'Santana Lopez, her REAL 'One and Only.'"

Santana didn't need to look at the pictures or read the trite headlines to remember that day.

"Santana, what's going on?" The professionalism left his voice and he sounded more like a friend than a manager. "This is unhealthy. You look sick. What can I do?"

Santana closed her eyes.

"Take it as a sign of success! Look, you have paparazzi following you now! I know it sucks, but this happens to all the big stars."

Sleep started to carry her away, his voice only popped into her head in short bursts.

"...bounce back, I know you can...the label is okay with it...last too long...have to show at the Grammys...perform 'One and Only...contract renegotiation..."

Her eyes opened at the last words. "What?" she whispered.

"If you don't show at the Grammys, you're in violation of your contract with the label and we'll have to renegotiate. Look, if that's what you want to do, we can do that. I'm always on your side. But, that's never been in the game plan."

"Ok." Her eyes closed again.

"So does that mean you'll play or..."

"Santana?"

"I'll just keep you on as a performer then. Just let me know. I'll stop by soon to check in. I can't bear to see you like this."

* * *

><p>Another week passed. Santana almost found it fortunate that she spent fewer hours thinking about Brittany. Except that those hours were replaced by her fear of contract negotiation from the label. Somehow, even with her public meltdown and disappearance, her manager had been able to snag a coveted performer slot at the Grammys. As much as she didn't want to pass it up, she couldn't help but fear the worst: her last public performances, those done without Brittany waiting in the wings, had been shameful. Her concert reviews for the last week of touring had gone from top-notch to barely passable. Some concert-goers took to the internet, demanding a refund. How could she perform for an international television audience when she knew it would be the death of her career? Her chest caved on her and her brain shut off, lulling her into an apprehensive sleep.<p>

On Tuesday morning, she woke early with a clear mind. She couldn't bear feeling trapped any longer.

She took a shower and changed into the first fresh pair of clothes in weeks. Driving to the cliffs, she inhaled her first breaths of fresh air, gaining more and more confidence the longer she was behind the wheel. Arriving in the parking lot, next to a familiar car, Santana had never been more thankful for Brittany's routines as she was on this morning.

Brittany had always been a creature of habit. When they were on the homefront, Brittany could always be found hiking or doing yoga at the cliffs by the beach. It was usually an early morning, weekday routine. When dancing became her job, a new passion took over: yoga. She said it kept her body flexible and her muscles loose. All Santana knew of it was that it took her out of her arms and out of her bed at an ungodly time each morning.

She pulled her guitar out of the trunk and strode to the trail, making her way past dog-walkers and early morning joggers. She faltered a bit when she caught sight of a blonde ponytail dangling in "Downward-Facing Dog." She knew how seriously Brittany took her yoga, so she chose to sit on a nearby bench rather than interrupt.

Her heart seemed to go through each yoga position at ten times the pace while she watched Brittany. She memorized every position, every facial expression, every tensed muscle. As she watched Brittany wind down, she collected her guitar and advanced.

"Britt?" Her voice came out hoarse. She had barely spoken in almost four weeks.

"Oh my God, Santana!" Brittany's eyes shot open. "What happened to you?"

"Huh?"

"I called you ... and ... the tabloids...are you okay?" Santana felt suddenly ashamed of her appearance as Brittany's eyes worked their way up and down her body. Despite a shower and the fresh air, her skin was still sallow and her body scrawny where toned muscle had once shown through.

"I, uh, I haven't been feeling well." Santana's voice was still hoarse, perhaps making the half-truth more believable.

"What are you doing here?" Brittany asked, concerned.

"Can I sing you something?" Santana sat down next to Brittany's yoga mat, facing her.

"Ok." Brittany's brows were furrowed in confusion and what appeared to be pity.

_Dancin' where the stars go blue_

_Dancin' where the evening fell_

_Dancin' in your wooden shoes_

_In a wedding gown_

_Dancin' out on 7th street_

_Dancin' through the underground_

_Dancin' little marionette_

_Are you happy now?_

_Where do you go when you're lonely_

_Where do you go when you're blue_

_Where do you go when you're lonely_

_I'll follow you_

_When the stars go blue_

_Laughing with your pretty mouth_

_Laughing with your broken eyes_

_Laughing with your lover's tongue_

_In a lullaby_

_Where do you go when you're lonely_

_Where do you go when you're blue_

_Where do you go when you're lonely_

_I'll follow you_

_When the stars go blue_

_The stars go blue, stars go blue_

Brittany's tears had begun before Santana had even had a chance to sing the first note. As the song ended, Santana's voice broke, then failed her completely. She set her guitar to the side and moved to sit next to Brittany, pulling her into her embrace.

"I need you Brittany. I don't work when you're not in my life," Santana whispered through her sobs.

"I can't," Brittany began before losing her thoughts in her sorrow.

"Santana, I can't do this."

"What, Britt? Please." Santana pulled back to search Brittany's eyes, hoping they would reveal an answer before Brittany spoke again.

"I can't keep following you around and being your best friend. We're not...we're not best friends."

"What? Yes, we are. You have always been my best friend and you always will be."

"No, we aren't best friends. And we haven't always been best friends. I'm in love with you, Santana. And as much as you want to deny it you can't, because you're in love with me, too."

"Please come back to me, Britt. I'm begging you."

"I can't."

"What do you need from me?" Santana all but wailed, her voice barely restrained. "Remember the song, _I'll follow you_, just tell me what you need and I'll do it."

"I need you to be honest."

"Okay. Well, I love you. Okay? I do. I love you so much it breaks me."

"That's not it."

"What?" Her voice howled, carrying. "What do you mean? Please just tell me what to do, Britt."

"I can't tell you, Santana, because I don't know what's going to fix us."

"Brittany, please. Everything hurts."

"I know," Brittany stood over her now, looking down sadly. "I know." She pulled up the mat and turned back toward the trail, leaving Santana with her head between her knees, drowning in a barrage of tears and gasping for air.


	9. Chapter 9

"I've Imagined It All"

**Part 9**

**AN:** I'm thankful for the feedback thus far. I'm curious, what can I do to help in clearing the timelines up for some of you? Each new chapter I write, I reread from the beginning, plus these are my words and I have a map of where the story is going, so it makes sense in my mind. I appreciate your honesty.

* * *

><p>Santana never would have thought that the Grammys would feel like this. She expected to be dazzled by the flash of photography, excited by the posh company, majestic in a flowing designer gown, and weighed down by awards before the night was over. As she tucked herself into the hired car, more than anything else, she just wanted to be back home and in bed.<p>

Over the last few days, her manager had stopped by frequently, sometimes multiple times in one day, checking in, providing updates, even reading to her. Although she never said a word, his company and companionship was what brought her out of her hole and into the car this late afternoon. She hadn't thought about it until fairly recently, but his career was tied directly to hers and she couldn't bear the consequences of letting him down any longer.

He'd brought her three dresses and a stylist, since she'd never shown to the arranged gown fittings. The stylist suggested a plunging neck-line, short black dress would be fitting for her current public image. To Santana, it appeared that the stylist thought her a "good-girl gone diva" type. When she'd opened her eyes after hair and makeup her hair was tousled and pulled back into a messy, yet calculated bun. Her eyelids layered and shimmery, blacks and grays drew out her dark brown eyes.

Now, in the back seat of the car with just her manager by her side, she exhaled and closed her eyes, attempting to calm her nerves.

"Do you think we can drive around for a while until the red carpet pre-show stuff is almost over?"

"Yeah, we can make that happen." He leaned forward to talk to the driver.

As they drove through downtown Los Angeles, Santana thought back to her first days in LA, living with Brittany. The car passed Brittany's old dance studio, where she first auditioned for Britney Spears. Santana used to have a picture of Brittany and Britney on her phone, posing right outside of the door they were now driving by. A few minutes later, she caught sight of the restaurant where she had waited tables when she first moved out to join Brittany. She would given it all up - the contract, the beachfront property, the nominations, and especially the fame - to go back to those days.

With ten minutes left before the start of the evening, the car arrived at the red carpet. Her manager stepped out first, holding the door and reaching his hand out to help her out of the car. Almost as soon as her head popped above the door, flashes burst in the air, blinding her. Paparazzi shouted her name. Vaguely, she heard shouts of "Where have you been?" "Rehab?" "Lesbian lover?" She was lost in the clamor, but her manager grabbed her hand and pulled her down the red carpet, shouting, "No interviews" again and again. Before she knew it, she was inside the auditorium and seated, her heartbeat finally slowing.

The Best New Artist award was the first of Santana's categories to be announced. She gripped her manager's hand tightly, hoping, praying, willing herself _not_ to win. She didn't want the recognition. She didn't want to feel judged by the public any longer. The plan be damned, she wanted out. When a young, commercial hip-hop artist took the award, she breathed a desperate sigh of relief.

Another hour passed of foolish jokes, and boring, predictable award announcements speckled with a few unpredictable announcements that put Santana at the edge of her seat. She figured that she would be one of those unpredictable announcements if she won for either of her two remaining categories. But boring occurred ten times more often than unpredictable. She felt relatively assured that she wouldn't win. The only thing to be nervous about would be the performance. At least she didn't have to ad-lib during that. It was routine. Just go blank inside, play the song like she'd done hundreds of times before, walk off stage, and retreat in her waiting car.

Even though she wanted logic to rule her mind, emotion took over as Santana's next category was announced. When her name echoed in the auditorium, her mind went blank. She stared straight forward, her mouth slightly agape. Her manager tapped her three, four, five times before her brain switched back on. Mouth still open, she stood, stumbling toward the stage. When she turned to face the crowd, it felt as though her body was empty, completely free of a heart or lungs.

"I...I...I wasn't expecting this," she began haltingly. Her eyes met with her manager's and remained there as she summoned courage. "I guess I'll thank my label for believing in me and signing me. My fans...thanks for supporting me. And my manager, I wouldn't be here...really," she paused and laughed thinking about how true the statement rang, "I wouldn't be here without you. You're family." The music began to play, indicating her exit. Tears welled in her eyes as she considered who else she might thank. A hand gently tugged at her arm, one of the presenters, escorting her off the stage.

Backstage, she was told to wait for a photo-op with her new award. Brittany's name reverberated through her brain and sadness tore through her. She would never be brave. She would never be honest. She was destined to agonize over Brittany for the rest of her life, wondering what might have been had she been able to summon the courage. She could have said Brittany's name on that stage tonight. The moment had passed.

A buzz from her phone brought her back to reality. A text message. From Brittany.

_Congratulations! Are there any dreams left to fulfill, because I think they've all come true_

Her heart pounded with excitement. Was Brittany giving her an opportunity? Was this a chance for her to do something right by Brittany? Or, her heart began to slow, was this just Brittany being Brittany? There had never been a mean bone in her body. She _would_ offer Santana a congratulations because that's just who Brittany had always been.

"Ms. Lopez? Right this way."

Before she put her phone back in her clutch, she tapped out a quick reply.

_There's still one dream I'm hoping for. _

She went into the press room heart still pounding, but smiling for the first time in weeks.

...

Four years, Santana had long ago realized, was a long time. Four years. No kissing. Except for that one summer, after a Glee Club reunion at Rachel's house, where Brittany practically mauled her in the bathroom and kissed the breath out of her. No sex. Not even after Brittany nearly killed her with those kisses and Santana slid her hand down the front of Brittany's pants only to be swatted away.

Four years was finally, finally _almost_ over. She wasn't sure if she was girlfriend material yet, but she had earned her Bachelor's degree, so that had to be worth something, right?

Brittany sat sharply dressed in the first row of her college auditorium, all smiles and bright eyes, awaiting Santana's appearance on-stage for her senior recital. This was the one thing standing in the way between Santana and college graduation. The one thing standing in the way between Santana and Brittany.

Truth be told, Santana had been preparing for this recital since the day she set foot in New York. She knew she would be a voice major, composition minor. She knew she'd have to do a senior recital to graduate. She wrote song after song after song in preparation. Nine times out of ten, the song was about love. Some were full of angst, others about love lost only to be regained, a few could even be categorized as more "sensual" songs.

For her final song, she sat center stage, behind her new piano, a senior year gift from her parents.

"My final song," she began, "I wrote a few years ago. It's improved over the years, I haven't left it all the same. I've worked on creating a more robust chord progression and I've matured some of the lyrics." A few people in the audience nodded their heads, acknowledging the musical terms. "At one point in my life, I lost someone who was very close to me, this song is for her." Santana's eyes were fixed to Brittany's. "Like all the rest, this is your song."

_It's a little bit funny this feeling inside_

_I'm not one of those who can easily hide_

_I don't have much money but girl if I did_

_I'd buy a big house where we both could live_

_If I was a sculptor, but then again, no_

_Or a girl who makes potions in a travelling show_

_I know it's not much but it's the best I can do_

_My gift is my song and this one's for you_

_And you can tell everybody this is your song_

_It may be quite simple but now that it's done_

_I hope you don't mind_

_I hope you don't mind that I put down in words_

_How wonderful life is while you're in the world_

_I sat on the roof and kicked off the moss_

_Well a few of the verses well they've got me quite cross_

_But the sun's been quite kind while I wrote this song_

_It's for people like you that keep it turned on_

_So excuse me forgetting but these things I do_

_You see I've forgotten if they're green or they're blue_

_Anyway the thing is what I really mean_

_Yours are the sweetest eyes I've ever seen_

The final chords of the piano echoed through the auditorium as Santana stood to thunderous applause. She bounded to the side of the stage and wrapped her mentor in a tight hug, thanking him for his work through the years. While the applause raged on, she made her way into the audience, pulling her mother, father, and Brittany into a group hug.

"I love you guys. Thank you for everything." Brittany had never seen Santana so emotional and open before. Tears ran down her cheeks as she searched her purse for tissues.

"Mom, Dad, I never could have learned all that I did without you guys supporting me..." Brittany missed the rest of Santana's thanks to her parents as she motioned toward the bathroom, hoping to pull some tissue from there. When she returned, only a few stragglers and Santana remained.

"Where are your parents?"

"They went off to dinner. We're gonna meet up with them tomorrow before the graduation ceremony. My mom said she'd drop you at the airport tomorrow evening while we're getting everything from my apartment packed up."

"Ok...well then what's the plan for tonight? Is it just you and me?"

Santana grabbed Brittany's hands, playing with her fingers. "Go on a date with me tonight?"

Brittany's jaw dropped into an open-mouthed smile. "Really?"

"Yeah, our first date. Will you go on a date with me?"

"Of course I will!" Brittany squeezed Santana's hands as her voice rose an octave in excitement.

Santana had opened the taxi door for Brittany, pulled her chair out, held her hand during dinner, and even fed her a bite of dessert before the night was over. As Santana led her into her apartment, Brittany noticed candles warmly lighting Santana's studio amidst packing boxes and piles of clothes.

"Sorry, it's a bit messy, I have to be out in two days, but..." Brittany pulled at Santana's hand, turning them face to face.

"San, how did you do this?"

"Oh," Santana chuckled, "I gave my friend the key. I texted her when we left and she came over and lit them and spread out the petals and everything."

"The petals?"

"Come," Santana took Brittany's hand again and led her to the bed, both kicking off their heels at the foot. Rose petals delicately splayed the white comforter, deep reds made only richer in the candlelight. With Brittany sitting on the bed, Santana stood. Brittany took a moment to study a petal, feeling its silky texture. She looked up when she heard a muted pop and saw Santana pouring champagne.

"This is probably the cheesiest thing I've ever done in my life."

"Santana stop. This is perfect."

"Let's toast," they held their glasses in the air. "To love and success. Together." Brittany smiled and clinked her glass.

"Britt wait," Santana interrupted before she could take a sip. "Together. Like, will you be my girlfriend?" Santana looked completely exposed awaiting Brittany's answer.

"Of course I will. You _are_ moving out to LA to live with me," Brittany reminded her lightly. They clinked glasses finally and took tentative sips.

Moments of silence passed, Santana darting her eyes sideways only to catch Brittany's eyes and nervously turn away.

"Britt, do you think tonight we can...you know..."

"Sweet lady kisses?"

Santana turned to look at her, happy that Brittany had read her mind and she didn't need to embarrass herself by asking it directly.

"Yeah. It's been such a long time," she let out a heavy sigh.

Brittany stood and set her glass on the bedside table. Her back was still to Santana as she spoke, whispering, "I'm gonna need some help unzipping my dress."

Santana set her glass beside Brittany's and stood, pulling Brittany's hair from her neck and placing a soft kiss at the nape. Brittany shivered at the feel of Santana's lips for the first time in years. Slowly, Santana pulled down the zipper, following it with gentle kisses that ran down Brittany's spine. When Brittany stepped out of her dress, Santana turned her and looked her over. She stood in a black bra and lacy black underwear.

"God, you're beautiful," Santana whispered hoarsely, as she worked the buttons on her blouse. Brittany stepped forward, pushing the blouse off of her frame, while Santana pushed down her skirt. Pulling her into a tight embrace, both gasped at their first skin on skin contact since high school.

Brittany pushed Santana back onto the bed, then climbed atop, straddling her stomach. Both hands cupped Santana's flushed cheeks, tilting her head up. Brittany's eyes darkened as she spent minutes just looking into Santana's eyes. Truthfully, Santana found it difficult to hold Brittany's powerful gaze, but she willed herself to do it. After four years of longing, she knew she had to allow her emotions to fly free with Brittany. When she couldn't take it any longer, she grabbed at the back of Brittany's neck, pulling her face down so that their lips crashed together. Her heart thundered in her chest as Brittany's tongue pushed into her mouth, swiping against her tongue. Her hands pulled and pulled and pulled until Brittany finally resisted, gasping for air.

"I love you, Brittany," Santana heaved. "I love you. I love you. I love you," her forehead fell against Brittany's chest, tears rolling down.

Brittany pulled her up, again drawing her eyes. "I love you, too, Santana." After a few more moments of Brittany's eyes dwelling into her own, Santana reached behind her and unsnapped her bra. Her head moved forward, capturing a pale nipple in her mouth and flicking it with her tongue until it hardened. Brittany's head lulled back, exposing her neck, and Santana found her pulse point, first dropping delicate kisses, then swiping her tongue forward and back as Brittany's pants became moans.

Using her strength, Santana pulled Brittany from her position and laid her out flat on the bed. Finding herself in an awkward position, she found solid ground on the floor and stood over top of Brittany as she wriggled out of her underwear. Santana unsnapped her own bra and quickly pushed down her underwear before climbing back on the bed. Slowly, she pressed her naked body atop Brittany's - stomach to stomach, breast to breast, center to center. Staccato breaths passed as she pushed herself up on her arms to look into Brittany's eyes.

Though it had been four years, she could still see the need in Brittany's eyes. Back in high school, Brittany would whisper dirty words at Santana's urging, claiming that the sex would be all the better. Tonight, however, they both seemed to know that the only words whispered had already passed.

Santana began to push her way down, appreciating Brittany's body with the pads of her fingers, her lips, and tongue. Before Santana could settle between her legs, Brittany was already slowly rocking her hips. Santana pressed a well-placed, soft kiss that loosed a heady gasp from Brittany. Her fingers toyed with her entrance, dipping in and drawing wetness out, as though she'd never seen a sight like it before. Finally, her fingers relaxed into an old, familiar rhythm, Brittany's pelvis lurching forward every time she reached the hilt. She watched as Brittany's face contorted from pure pleasure - lips squeezed tightly shut, eyes closed off to everything but Santana's fingers - to unadulterated love - mouth ajar and eyes wide open, seeking Santana's brown eyes below.

Before Santana could lower her head again, Brittany's hand pulled at her, white knuckled, forcing her up, up, up so that they were face to face, Santana's fingers still working a delicious rhythm. Santana dipped her head for a kiss and was met with a gasp. She tucked her head into the crook of Brittany's neck and was met with a low moan. Raising herself up to watch Brittany once again, she was met with foggy blue eyes running in and out of focus. Her fingers suffused into Brittany as her walls tightened, gripping and releasing, gripping and releasing, until her legs were shaking and a wail echoed through the room. Her fingers slowed, then stopped, bringing them down into their decrescendo. Santana's head rested on Brittany's sweat-sheened collarbone.

Before she could say anything, Brittany pushed them into a sitting position, once again staring into Santana's eyes. Santana exhaled a sudden moan as Brittany's fingers found her. She'd been so taken that she hadn't noticed the movement. Her hips rocked to meet Brittany's thrusts urgently. Any other night, she might have prolonged it, but this night was different. She surged and jerked, twitching uncontrollably and cried a garbled moan as she threw her head back, holding it until her fall, when she drooped forward, into Brittany's neck. Brittany pulled her fatigued body the rest of the way until they were wrapped next to one another.

Just before Santana was lost in sleep, she felt Brittany tug at her and hoarsely whisper, "San, what are you going to dream about?"

With her eyes closed, drifting between two states of consciousness, Santana responded, "A record deal, a world tour, a Grammy."

Brittany smiled, "One day you'll fulfill your dreams, San, I know it." She swiped Santana's hair from her forehead and lightly kissed her.

"What are you gonna dream tonight?"

"I'm not sure, anymore. My dream came true today."


	10. Chapter 10

"I've Imagined it All"

**Part 10**

At times, she could feel an intoxicating buzz in the LA atmosphere, but most often Santana blamed that on not getting enough sleep. She had moved out to LA three months ago. Brittany had decided to take a break from auditions and dance classes for Santana's first two weeks in LA. They'd gone by the usual tourist haunts - the Hollywood sign, the Chinese Theater, an expensive night of drinks and celeb hobnobbing at Chateau Marmont. Despite Brittany having lived in LA for almost a year, Santana had never been out to visit her. She'd been too caught up in her senior recital and graduation, plus she knew she'd be living with Brittany soon enough. Their first weeks living together had been pure bliss, both public and private.

But eventually Brittany had to get back to her auditions and Santana had to pick up a job. The labels weren't throwing record contracts at her yet. She found a part-time job waiting tables at a restaurant not far from their apartment and a weekly gig at a jazz club, singing and playing the piano.

Her first night at the club, Brittany sat a table halfway back from the stage with a few other dancers. Though Santana was just getting her start, Brittany had already made appearances in more music videos than Santana could count. This night, while Santana was celebrating her first professional gig, Brittany was celebrating her first contract to choreograph.

Each new song brought hoots and hollers from Brittany and her boisterous crew. As the gig ended, Santana finally acknowledged them. "This last one's an original and it goes out to my girlfriend, who's in the audience tonight."

Notes echoed from the piano as Santana locked eyes with Brittany in the audience and smiled. Looking into those eyes, for a moment, she felt she would never need anything else. For a moment.

…..

The Record of the Year award was quietly doled out while Santana posed backstage for pictures. All the better, in her mind. The performance was the only reason for the nerves to be coursing through her body at this point. At least during the performance she wouldn't have to wrestle with what to say or who to mention in a thank you speech.

Her manager joined her in the performer's dressing room backstage, where she began to warm up her voice. He was like a father doting on a sick daughter. Between scales, he encouraged her to drink the tea he'd brought, or he lightly patted her arm, hoping to calm her nerves, or his nerves, or both. Neither one had to mention the significance of the performance. Santana hadn't performed in front of a live audience in months and her last shows that she had performed had been absolute disasters. When the warm up was complete, instead of talking about nerves, the room fell silent.

Santana closed her eyes and took deep breaths.

"Ms. Lopez, you're on in five."

Her manager took her hand and helped her stand.

He wrapped her in a tight hug and whispered into the top of her hair, "Sing it for her." Santana pushed back and looked up into his eyes. He had never mentioned Brittany. She struggled to think of time when she had ever mentioned Brittany to him. Her heart raced. All this time, the warm ups had been just as much about getting Brittany out of her mind as they were about getting her voice ready.

Before she knew it, she was center-stage sitting at her favorite piano, eyes closed though it didn't matter, the whole auditorium was wrapped in darkness. Across the stage, she heard a spotlight flick on and two actors announcing her name.

She fought to steel herself, wrestled to slow her heart and steady her hands. The auditorium sat quiet, spotlight still across stage on the actors. Any more time wasted and the dull murmur of the audience would grow into a concerned hum.

Trembling fingers tentatively pressed into the first chord. Then the second, the third. She felt tears begin to well in her eyes. As the spotlight pitched center-stage, her voice wavered:

_You've been on my mind_

_I grow fonder every day_

_Lose myself in time_

_Just thinking of your face_

_God only knows_

_Why it's taken me so long_

_To let my doubts go_

_You're the only one that I want_

_I don't know why I'm scared_

_I've been here before_

_Every feeling, every word_

_I've imagined it all_

Her stomach clenched and a tear rolled down her cheek. She closed her eyes again.

_You'll never know_

_If you never try_

_To forget your past_

_And simply be mine_

As she held the last note, her voice broke with emotion. Pushing through, she powerfully began the chorus as the drums and organ kicked in behind her.

_I dare you to let me be your_

_Your one and only_

_Promise I'm worthy_

_To hold it your arms_

_So come on and give me a chance_

_To prove I am the one who can_

_Walk that mile_

_Until the end starts_

Her face was glistening with tears in the artificial light of the stage.

_If I've been on your mind_

_You hang on every word I say_

_Lose yourself in time_

_At the mention of my name_

_Will I ever know_

_How it feels to hold you close_

_And have you tell me_

_Whichever road I choose you'll go_

_I don't know why I'm scared_

_Cause I've been here before_

_Every feeling every word_

_I've imagined it all _

_You'll never know_

_if you never try_

_To forget your past_

_And simply be mine_

As she held out the last note, she opened her eyes. She could imagine blue eyes boring into her from the side of the stage, where Brittany had stood so many times through the tour. She caught those eyes in her own, determined to hold the gaze, something she'd never been able to do on stage before. Again her voice broke with the last note as she ripped into the chorus with renewed vigor.

_I dare you to let me be_

_Your one and only_

_I promise I'm worthy_

_To hold in your arms_

_So come on and give me a chance_

_To prove I am the one who can_

_Walk that mile_

_Until the end starts_

At the piano solo, she found herself staring into dark emptiness backstage. Her chest heaved as she tried to catch her breath. Curtains at the back of the stage lifted, giving way to a choir clad in gold robes. Their voices started slowly, quietly, melodically as she continued to slowly pound the keys on the piano.

_I know it ain't easy_

_Giving up your heart_

_I know it ain't easy_

_Giving up your heart_

_Nobody's perfect_

_I know it ain't easy_

_Trust me I've learned it_

_Giving up your heart_

_Nobody's perfect_

_I know it ain't easy_

_Trust me I've learned it_

_GIving up your heart_

As the choir swelled, Santana closed her eyes, lost in the saturation of the choir's collective voice. At every other line, she cut through with a wrenching ad-lib of one of the lyrics, voice rupturing, tears again streaming down her face.

_Nobody's perfect_

_I know it ain't easy_

_Trust me I've learned it_

_Giving up your heart_

_Nobody's perfect_

_I know it ain't easy_

_Trust me I've learned it_

_GIving up your heart_

As the key changed, Santana felt like she was floating, above the crowd and the choir, amidst the stars, carried away. Her mind let go. She was back in her childhood bedroom, brooding, singing into her hairbrush, bent over at the waist and fist clenched as she tore into another love song.

_So I dare you,_

_I dare you, baby_

_let me be your_

_your one and only_

_Promise I'm worthy_

_To hold in your arms_

_So come on and give me a chance_

_To prove I am the one who can _

_Walk that mile_

_Until the end starts_

_Come on and give me a chance_

_To prove I am the one who can _

_Walk that mile_

_Until the end starts_

Before she could open her eyes or hear the applause, before she could say thank you or wipe the tears from her eyes, she lifted her hand from the piano to her chest, attempting to hold her heart in one place. Leaning into the microphone, her voice cracked, "I love you, Brittany."

Inhaling deeply she turned, awakened by roaring applause and the audience already on their feet.


	11. Chapter 11

"I've Imagined It All"

**Part 11**

Santana had never really gotten into the gossip rags. Every once in a while her manager would plop down an _Us Weekly_ or _People_ opened to a specific page and direct her to read. Most times, the stories were sort of right. She _had_ grown up in Lima Heights Adjacent, but it was a recently gentrified neighborhood that had more hipsters and families than verified drug dealers these days. She _had_ smoked cigars, but that was ages ago, and she only bought Cuban that once. (The only one they'd seemed to get just right was the "Lover's Quarrel" article, but then she was too empty to care.) After reading each article her manager set in front of her, she'd usually just laugh and continue on with the conversation.

Today, he dropped a stack of magazines and newspaper articles in front or her and set a computer up on the table of his office. One of the label executives stood just outside the room on his cell phone. Apparently, he'd seen all of the things she was about to see and was just waiting until she'd seen them too.

_Lopez is Back! Santana Lopez Rocks the Grammys._

_One and Only Performance of a Lifetime_

She read through each article, earning praise after praise for the performance. Some even called it the best live performance of the year. A wary smile etched across her face. Her attention directed to the computer, the clip was frozen at the beginning, a graphic in the lower-third reading "Who Do You Love, Santana?"

"The articles say you're back!" Her manager's voice was a mix of false excitement and trepidation. Her face fell as she turned back to the computer screen.

"But what's this?"

"Well," his face fell now, too. "Take a look."

A news anchor stood before a graphic of Santana at the Grammys.

"While Santana Lopez's performance of 'One and Only' at the Grammys Sunday blew most people away, what she said after her performance still has some scratching their heads."

The screen centered in and cut to the end of her performance. The cameras had captured her tear-stained face in a close-up, leaning over the microphone, but just a bare whisper could be heard above the din of the auditorium.

The show zoomed back out to the anchor. "Today, many in the entertainment world are wondering, 'Who do you love, Santana?' Let's zoom in and take another look."

The camera zoomed in on a replay of just her mouth at the end of the performance. All sound cut out and the anchor's voice came through. "The noise of the auditorium drowned out exactly what she said, but we've brought in an expert lip-reader to help us interpret Santana's statement. Mike, tell us what you see here."

"Well, she's pretty clearly saying, 'I love you' at the beginning. Following that, it's not a common word, so I'm thinking it's a name. Judging by the the movement of her lips, it starts with a 'B' or a 'P.'"

"A 'B,' huh?" The anchor chimed back in. "At the end of her recent tour, Lopez was caught by some paps in a park in New York City with her choreographer, Brittany Pierce." The photo of Santana and Brittany on the park bench, Brittany snatching her hand out of Santana's grip, came onto the screen.

"It could be Brittany. That would fit."

"Well thanks, Mike. The Lopez media machine is just saying 'No Comment' at this time."

The clip froze again at the end. Santana's mind raced. She hadn't actively thought to profess her love at the end of her performance, but she was so swept up in her emotions that it had just come out. Following the confession, she had ignored the media. Brittany hadn't texted her again. That was all she could think about. She'd confessed her love internationally, whether planned or not, she thought it didn't matter, and yet Brittany still hadn't reached out. Over the past few days, her moods had shifted from indifferent at the thought of making more music to despair at the thought of having lost Brittany yet again.

Hearing the clip end, the label executive walked back into the room. "Well, we really lucked out with how loud it was in that auditorium. I'm thinking this lip-reading bullshit will drown out in a few days and we can move on."

Silence fell over the room. Her manager's eyes darted between Santana and the label rep. Finally, he spoke up. "I think...I think it might be time to deal with this head on."

Santana couldn't breathe. A chill ran through her body, but her mouth remained frozen shut.

Her manager continued. "The lies should end. That performance at the Grammys speaks for itself. Santana can be a successful musician and live her life in public."

Santana's eyes shot over to the executive. "I don't know. She's only just put out her first album. Do we want to risk that type of press on the second? Sales won't be as high."

The tone in her manager's voice shifted, more confident and strong. "Or we can find a new label. I'll leave it up to you."

Wide-eyed, Santana now looked between her manager and the label exec, whose only response was, "I'm listening."

"Ok, I have an idea."

...

"Ms. Lopez?" Santana was crouched on the stage, unplugging the microphone and acoustic amp. She turned and looked up to find a middle aged man standing above her.

"I'm with Talented Artists, a talent management company." He extended his hand and Santana stood, wiping her grimy hands on her jeans and extending her own.

"I've seen your last three shows and I wanted to talk to you about representation. Do you have a manager? Are you in talks with anyone?"

"Uh," Santana's mouth went dry. "Uh, no."

"Okay, well, I think you have a lot of potential and you put on an amazing live show. Would you be able to come down to my office some time in the next week and talk about representation options? Here's my card."

"Sure, yeah," Santana's breath caught, causing an awkward gasp.

"Ok then, I'll see you think week, just call my assistant and she'll set something up."

His office was a mélange of awards, platinum records, and signed headshots from famous musicians. When she walked into the room, her hands were already sweating, but upon seeing three additional people in the room, her body broke into a full sweat.

After shaking hands with who she found out were representatives from a record label, the man from the club directed her to a seat and began asking questions. She went through an overview of her personal background, her experience with music in college, and her trials and tribulations at the club over the past six or so months. Eventually, she was hit with a few more interesting questions.

"So, Santana, what's your goal?"

"Well, my dream is to go big. I want a record deal, a hit album, some Grammy awards. I'd love to do a full-scale tour with big sets and choreographers and a giant backing band."

"Well, I can see that in your future, depending on a few catches of course." The manager smiled.

One of the label executives broke in. "At the last performance, on Saturday, who was that blonde that came to the stage?"

"Oh come on, Josh, we talked about that," the manager seemed defensive as he cut through. Despite his insistence, all eyes were still on her.

"That was my girlfriend, Brittany."

"Ah, ok. Thought so. Look, it's the twenty-first century here in LA. If all you care about is appealing to an LA, New York, metropolitan audience, then we can work with that. But, if you want to achieve the dream that you just told me about, you're going to have to appeal to those people in middle of nowhere Nebraska, Kentucky, Arkansas. You won't have the appeal that you want to have out in those places if you're openly gay. Either way, you're signed. A record deal is going to happen. It's just, how big do you want to be? What are you wiling to sacrifice? So tell me again, what's your dream?"

* * *

><p>Santana pounced on the bed, waking Brittany out of her slumber. "Britt, I got signed! I've got a fucking record deal!"<p>

Brittany's eyes shot open and she sat up, kneeling and wrapping her arms around Santana, "Oh my god, Santana!" Together they bounced up and down on the bed until they were breathless and the excitement began to die down. Brittany pulled Santana down on top of her and they snuggled into one another.

"Tell me all about it, San. What was the meeting like? Tell me everything."

Santana pushed up and looked cautiously down into Brittany's eyes. "Not now. Right now, I need you."

Writhing on top of Brittany, Santana couldn't bring herself to look into Brittany's eyes. She clenched her eyes tightly shut and ground herself down, harder and harder until it almost hurt. Her arms shook as she held herself up. Or perhaps they shook for another reason. As she shivered at her release, she felt a tear force its way out of the corner of her eye and she buried her head in the crook of Brittany's neck, hoping to find solace in the warmth beneath her.

As Brittany stroked her sweaty hair, Santana forced a muffled sigh into the blonde's side, then a calculated whisper, just loud enough for Brittany to hear. "I love you. You're my best friend, Britt."

Santana couldn't see Brittany's reaction, but she felt her hand still and a sharp intake of breath before she drifted into a restless slumber.


	12. Chapter 12

"I've Imagined It All"

**Part 12 **

With contracts signed, studio dates booked, and a fresh influx of cash, Santana felt nearly on top of the world. In the mornings, she fine-tuned a few of her better songs, readying them for recording. In the afternoons, she relished her free time, listening to new music, watching television, and surfing the internet for the perfect abode to acquire with her newfound wealth. In the evenings, she would move to Brittany's dancing rhythm or inner pulse - often both in the same night. Brittany proved to be an excellent dance trainer and often by the end of each session, Santana found herself enraptured with Brittany's movements.

While she'd taken to calling Brittany her best friend again, the excitement of dreams fulfilled coursed through her each night until she captured Brittany's lips between her own and buried her face in between Brittany's legs. Late at night, more often than not, she'd awaken with a sharp stab of guilt. She'd unfurl herself from Brittany and hug the edge of the bed, seeking solitude and a moment's rest from her shame.

Though Santana could have lived in that way day in and day out - in fact, much of her life she had - Brittany could not.

One morning as the sun peered through the blinds and onto Santana's face, she heard Brittany's voice, sharp. "What's going on, Santana?"

She had jumped, startled at the tone in Brittany's voice. Her movement betrayed her and she knew she could feign sleep no longer.

"Huh?" She rolled over to find Brittany sitting up in bed, eyes red and puffy.

"What's going on with us? Why are things different?"

"What do you mean, Britt?" Santana's voice was groggy from sleep. Her eyes just now beginning to focus.

"Don't do that. Why are things different?"

Santana lay silent for a moment. She and Brittany had shared everything from the single-digits, through adolescence and now through the moderate successes of adulthood. She couldn't pretend.

"Britt," Santana sat up to look into Brittany's eyes, then sighed and cast them down to the bed. She decided she couldn't look her in the eyes. "It's the label. They know about us. They just think it's best if you and I...well, if I'm not...you know..."

"If you're not what, Santana? If you're not dating a girl? That you love? Who loves you?" Despite her strained and swollen eyes, Brittany's mouth spouted venom.

"I do love you, Brittany. I always will. It's just...it's my dream to have this." Tears again surfaced in Brittany's eyes. "Britt, I need you to achieve this dream. I don't want to break up. We can be together for real...eventually."

Santana tried to grasp Brittany's hand, but could only link pinkies as Brittany pulled her hand away.

"Right now, you'll be by my side. You're my best friend."

"Your best friend who fucks you?"

Anger washed over Brittany's face. Santana's mouth hung open. Brittany's faded eyes looked from their linked fingers to Santana's eyes and back. Santana could feel tears spring forth as she considered the consequences.

Finally, after a few deep breaths, Brittany relented. "Santana, I love you more than anything. I want you to achieve your dream."

"Please, Britt. I promise we can be together eventually. Just be by my side for this. It's so close, I can almost touch it."

"I'll help you. I'll be there for you. I just want you to realize that in order for me to help you achieve your dream, I'm giving mine up. You just took my dream away from me."

Santana's heart dropped. She couldn't believe how selfish she'd become. And how selfless Brittany was. But her dream felt so close. The dream she'd wished for her entire life. The dream she'd shared with Brittany the first night she'd truly looked into the ocean of her eyes and spoken her love aloud. In response, Brittany had confessed that Santana's love was her own dream come true.

"Britt," Santana whispered hoarsely, looking on to Brittany's face only to find her eyes staring across the room. "Britt, I'll get it back. Your dream, I'll get it back in time. I promise I will."

...

When Santana had spoken to Brittany on the phone a week earlier, she sensed just the slightest bit of excitement in her voice. While Santana was still dismayed that Brittany had not communicated with her since her brazen (yet muffled) announcement on international television, she was not near giving up the hope of winning Brittany back. Shortly after her latest meeting with the label and her manager, she had set up an indefinite hiatus to sort out the mess she'd made of her life.

The only thing standing in the way of the work stoppage and cleaning things up was her manager's convoluted plan to set things right. Santana had to admit that she'd never been good at planning things out or winning over people's hearts and minds - at least not on purpose. In the past, when she'd won Brittany's heart over and over again, something inside her had just burst forth and carried through to Brittany. She supposed that her Grammy performance was meant to do that - however little it had been thought out - but Brittany had not responded. Maybe she'd lost her touch. Maybe Brittany had finally had enough.

Now, she was sitting on a bench looking out over the Pacific Ocean. Deep blue waves crashed and echoed against the cliffs below. Santana had arrived thirty minutes before Brittany had agreed to meet her. In that time, she ran through her script over and over again. Words she'd been practicing in the week since their phone conversation. She knew that she couldn't beg Brittany to come back. She couldn't just whip out her guitar and sing her another song. Those opportunities had come and gone.

Frankly, she was surprised that Brittany had agreed to meet her at all. The only communication she'd received from Brittany in weeks was the singular text message after she'd won her Grammy. When she typed out a cryptic response about having dreams left to fulfill, Brittany had let the conversation fizzle instead.

Following her on-stage confession, Santana was absolute in her belief that Brittany would seek her out within twenty-four hours. As the twenty-fifth hour passed, and on to the twenty-sixth, Santana felt herself fall further and further into the warmth and familiarity of her white-down comforter.

The interview was pre-recorded. It had to be. Once Santana was aware of the magnitude of it all - the statement she would be making - she resolved to get in touch with Brittany. Brittany had not been prepared for the performance (and in all honesty, Santana had not been prepared for it either). But they would both be prepared for the interview.

"Hi," Santana heard a familiar whisper at her back and stood awkwardly, turning to catch Brittany rounding the weathered bench.

"Hi, how are you?" Santana hands were stuffed in her pockets, fumbling with loose change and lint. Brittany smiled and took a seat.

"I'm alright. How are you?"

Santana could only muster a forced smile in response. "Britt, thanks for..."

"I just," she interrupted, "before you say what you want to say...that performance was...it was...breathtaking."

"You saw it?" Santana couldn't hide the shock from her face. She had held onto a small hope that perhaps Brittany hadn't seen the performance and didn't know about her confession.

"Of course I saw it. After all that we've been through, I wouldn't miss the chance to see you have your dreams come true."

"Why didn't you tell me?" Santana could feel tears coming to her eyes.

"Tell you what?"

"That you saw it? That saw me break down on television? That you saw me confess my love in front of this huge audience?" Her voice broke as tears fell from her eyes in a steady stream.

"What was I supposed to say, Santana?" Brittany seemed to be on the defensive. "Was I supposed to just take you back. Look at where that's gotten me each time. You come wailing to me with a song, I take you back, and weeks later, things go back to the way they were. For all I know, you and your label are denying everything or telling everyone that 'Brittany' is your boyfriend."

"The sound was drowned out by the audience. No one heard it."

"I heard it."

"Look," Santana's voice raised in anger, "I don't care if no one heard it or everyone heard it, you're the only person who I wanted to hear it. And I wanted you to care. Obviously you don't if you couldn't even call me."

Brittany tugged at her hand until she uncurled it from a fist. Brittany's fingers weaved through her own. "I care."

Santana looked down at their fingers clasped together, a familiar sight. She then raised her eyes to look into Brittany's.

"I don't know if anything I say or do will be enough to undo the mess I've made of us." She sighed deeply. "To achieve my dream, I took yours away. And now, neither or us have what we really want." Tears now welled in Brittany's eyes as Santana continued. "I hope I'm taking some steps in the right direction and one day you and I can be together again."

"I do, too, Santana. I really do. I just don't know how I can trust you with my heart again."

"Can we try to start over? Will you go out on a date with me?" Santana's eyes pleaded.

Brittany broke eye contact and looked at the ground. "I'm not ready for that. I can't throw myself into this only to be hurt again."

"I understand. Well, there's something I want you to see. Can you just make sure you're home and in front of a TV on Thursday night next week?" Santana stroked her thumb over the back of Brittany's hand.

"Yeah..."

"There's something I need you to see."


	13. Chapter 13

_I've Imagined It All_

**Chapter 13**

The seven o'clock hour on the TV guide for MTV read, "I've Imagined It All. An MTV Special Documentary with Santana Lopez." Brittany buried herself in the corner of her couch, legs tucked underneath, chewing on her fingernail.

The screen cut to black, then popped up with a montage of recent pictures of Santana. Santana at the Grammys. Santana on tour. Santana with Regis. The narrator voiced over.

_Some have compared her to Beyonce, Lady Gaga, or Adele. Whether you agree with those comparisons or not, no one can deny that Santana Lopez has gained musical success in her own right. She's responsible for a multi-platinum debut album, an international sold-out tour, and a Grammy Award.  
><em>  
>The screen cut to a scathing headline and picture of Santana looking gaunt. Her failed interview from the Today show cut in, her voice distant and harsh against the interviewer's innocence. As the screen slipped into a silent replay of her Grammy performance, the narrator's voice keyed up again.<p>

_Like many new artists, Lopez has struggled at times with her newfound fame. The end of her popular tour resulted in more than a few biting reviews and demands for refunds. Her memorable Today show interview resulted in a "diva" label from the press. Her disappearance from the public eye and subsequent heart-wrenching performance at the Grammy Awards left fans wondering, "Who is Santana Lopez?"  
><em>  
>The screen now showed Santana sitting in the center of a darkened room, one bright light spotlighting her. Brittany saw she was wearing her favorite gray t-shirt and blue jeans.<p>

Santana laughed on-screen as she repeated the interviewer's question. "Who is Santana Lopez, huh? It's going to sound corny, but I guess Santana Lopez is a dreamer."

The documentary cut to another recorded piece, which appeared to be in Santana's home. She sat at her kitchen table, overlooking the Pacific Ocean. Her mom was next to her. Pictures spread across the table as their fingers delicately leafed through each one.

"Here she is at eight years old," Santana's mother held up a faded photograph of Santana clutching her miniature microphone stand and smiling at the camera. "She has always loved to perform, even when she was young. And she'd demand an audience every time!"

The interviewer, sitting just across the table, interjected. "Mrs. Lopez, can you take us through Santana's rise to fame? When did she start to take music seriously?"

Santana looked shyly at her mother, who continued to pick through the photographs. "It was probably around this time." A photo appeared on-screen of Santana clutching her guitar, studying her finger placement. Brittany recognized Santana's first guitar, the one she used to write "When the Stars Go Blue."

Mrs. Lopez continued. "Santana wrote song after song on that guitar. Her father and I noticed that she was getting more and more talented."

She smiled brightly as she picked up the next picture: Santana gripping the Nationals trophy from her senior year in Glee.

"Eventually, my baby and the other people around her recognized her talent, too. She went to school in New York for music, then to LA, and it seemed like almost in no time she was calling us in the middle of the night to tell us about a record deal."

Santana turned to the interviewer and nodded, a small smile threatened to show through despite biting her lower lip between her teeth.

The show cut back to the darkened interview room. Santana looked vulnerable in the dark room, the spotlight so bright.

The interviewer's voice broke through from off-screen. "Did you ever think that this rise to success would happen?"

Santana appeared to be lost in thought for a moment before a halted, weak voice came through, "I had imagined it all. It had always played out in my head. Except..."

The interview let the silence hang in the air as Santana grappled in her mind. More than thirty seconds of silence passed, the camera bearing down on her. Brittany could see Santana's hands clenching and unclenching, her eyes focused on the ground. When she looked up, tears had brimmed to the surface and her voice was even quieter than before. "I had imagined it all, except what I imagined didn't come true."

"What do you mean by that?"

"I imagined the Grammys, and the success, the tour, the fame. That was always my biggest dream. But somewhere underneath all that, I was too scared to admit that I'd imagined more. Something far more important than awards and money and fame."

The screen cut back to Santana's home. This time, she sat on a white armchair in the living room. Her mother and the interviewer sat facing the television. The TV played a video of young Santana wailing Michael Jackson while Brittany twisted and twirled in the background. As the performance drew to a close, Mr. Lopez's voice offered muffled approval and applause. Another video queued up, teenage Santana bobbing her head to a soulful R&B song, Brittany beside her, in sync with her choreography. Pictures flashed on the screen: Brittany and Santana holding hands after a Glee Club performance, Brittany and Santana in their caps and gowns enclosed in an intimate hug, Brittany and Santana standing on-stage after Santana's senior-year recital, Brittany and Santana clasping the keys to their first apartment in LA.

Santana sat exposed on the screen again. She clasped a tissue tightly in her right hand as she continued talking to the interviewer off-screen.

"I'd always imagined that I'd share this dream. It was never meant to be mine alone. Brittany has been through every step with me. She danced with me when I was just a little kid singing Michael Jackson. She helped me keep my sanity through my teenage angst-ridden years of writing and ripping up sad love songs. She brought me into the Glee Club in high school."

Santana looked down at her feet, contemplating, before she continued. "A dancer always needs a song, right? Well in this case, I always needed a dancer."

The screen cut back to Santana in her home, this time without her mother. She was in her living room again, sitting at the piano. The floor-to-ceiling ocean view offered a sharp contrast to the white floors and white piano.

The interviewer leaned against the body of the piano. "Talk to me about 'One and Only.'"

Santana smiled and looked out into the ocean. "What do you want to know?"

"Well, it's your break-out piece. It won you a Grammy. It also won you a lot of, perhaps unwanted, recognition. Your performance at the Grammys was heart-wrenching and left many in the audience just stunned. What does this song mean to you?"

Santana sighed, then turned to face the interviewer. "It's a love song."

Brittany's fingernails were bitten to the quick, yet she continued. Her heart dropped. She had heard the rest of this interview before. She would never forget it. Santana sat in a polka-dot dress and told the interviewer that she wrote it for her boyfriend.

Santana continued. "It's a love song. To Brittany. I had imagined all my life that I would win awards and gain recognition for my music. But, one night, as I was coming home from a tour in Europe, I realized that Brittany had always factored into my dreams and along the way I'd pushed her out. Sometimes I pushed her out on purpose, sometimes I pushed her out because other people told me to, sometimes I pushed her out because I was afraid. I'd become too scared to include her in my dreams. When I wrote this song, I thought about all of those times when I imagined shouting my love from every stage we'd ever shared. I thought about how she'd become a part of my dream, but perhaps the only part that seemed to stay a dream. As the record deal came true, and the tour, and the Grammys, loving Brittany seemed to be the only part of the dream I couldn't get a hold of. I'd always imagined that she was my one and only. And for a while, imagining was enough. This song was the song that I was going to sing when I was ready to go public with her. It just happened to get picked up and become a hit a little earlier than I was prepared for. Looking back, I should never have needed to be prepared. I've always known that she's my one and only."

The screen cut one final time to Santana in the darkened room.

Off-screen, the interviewer's voice repeated her last line, "You always need a dancer?"

Santana's lips quivered as she brought the tissue to wipe tears from her eyes. She nodded. "I always needed Brittany. I don't work without her. She's my best friend." Santana paused at the weight of her last statement. She'd whispered that line time and again since she'd signed the record contract. "But more than that, she's the one. I love her. I'm in love with her."

"Why did you try to hide it?"

"I was selfish. I wanted glitz and glamour and things that don't matter. And I was scared. I was scared to really let go and love."

"And you're ready for love now?"

"Until the end starts."

A new tear came to replace each that Brittany wiped away. Her mind replayed the interview. Santana's explanation. The pictures flashing on the screen.

As if on auto-pilot, she grabbed her keys from the table.

A sharp knock jolted Santana from her thoughts. She'd called Brittany twice, without any response. Earlier in the day, when she'd texted Brittany to remind her to watch the program, she hadn't received a response. At best, Santana hoped that perhaps she'd forgotten.

Brittany stood at the door, disheveled. Her hair fell in messy curls from her bun, her eyes red and swollen. When Santana opened the door, Brittany pushed inside, on a mission.

"Sing it again, Santana," she demanded.

As the sun set over the ocean, Santana took a seat behind her favorite piano.

_You've been on my mind_

Brittany leaned against the piano, blue eyes boring into Santana's brown eyes.

_I grow fonder every day  
>Lose myself in time<br>Just thinking of your face  
>God only knows why it's taken me so long to let my doubts go<br>You're the only one that I want_

_I don't know why I'm scared_  
><em>I've been here before<em>  
><em>Every feeling; every word<em>  
><em>I've imagined it all<em>  
><em>You'll never know if you never try<em>  
><em>To forget your past and simply be mine<em>

_I dare you to let me be your, your one and only_  
><em>Promise I'm worth it<em>  
><em>To hold in your arms<em>  
><em>So come on and give me a chance<em>  
><em>To prove I am the one who can walk that mile<em>  
><em>Until the end starts<em>

_If I've been on your mind_  
><em>You hang on every word I say<em>  
><em>Lose yourself in time<em>  
><em>At the mention of my name<em>  
><em>Will I ever know how it feels to hold you close<em>  
><em>And have you tell me whichever road I choose, you'll go?<em>

_I don't know why I'm scared_  
><em>'Cause I've been here before<em>  
><em>Every feeling, every word<em>  
><em>I've imagined it all<em>  
><em>You'll never know if you never try<em>  
><em>To forget your past and simply be mine<em>

_I dare you to let me be your, your one and only_  
><em>I promise I'm worth it<em>  
><em>To hold in your arms<em>  
><em>So come on and give me a chance<em>  
><em>To prove I am the one who can walk that mile<em>  
><em>Until the end starts<em>

_I know it ain't easy giving up your heart_  
><em>I know it ain't easy giving up your heart<em>  
><em>Nobody's pefect<em>  
><em>I know it ain't easy giving up your heart<em>  
><em>Trust me I've learned it<em>  
><em>Nobody's pefect<em>  
><em>I know it ain't easy giving up your heart<em>  
><em>Trust me I've learned it<em>  
><em>Nobody's pefect<em>  
><em>I know it ain't easy giving up your heart<em>  
><em>Trust me I've learned it<em>  
><em>Nobody's pefect<em>  
><em>I know it ain't easy giving up your heart<em>  
><em>Trust me I've learned it<em>

_So I dare you to let me be your, your one and only_  
><em>I promise I'm worth it<em>  
><em>To hold in your arms<em>  
><em>So come on and give me a chance<em>  
><em>To prove I am the one who can walk that mile<em>  
><em>Until the end starts<em>

_Come on and give me a chance_  
><em>To prove I am the one who can walk that mile<em>

As the song ended, Santana reached up to wipe away her own tears. Brittany's face twisted as she cried harder than she had in years, releasing all of the emotions she let build through their years together. Santana stood and turned Brittany into her body, then pulled her into a unyielding embrace. Brittany collapsed in Santana's arms, forcing the shorter girl to hold them both upright.

As her sobbing faded, Brittany whispered into Santana's ear. "Can we stop imagining?"

Santana pulled back to look to Brittany eyes. "I don't want to imagine any more. Britt, can you make my last dream come true please?"

Brittany's brows knit in confusion.

"Be with me, Britt."

Tears surfaced again as Brittany nodded.

Before Brittany could begin her sobbing again, Santana admitted, "You've always been right. Every lyric, every song, it's all for you."

"From this point on, only happy songs, okay?"

"Yeah," Santana whispered into soft blonde hair. "Only happy songs."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **Thanks for reading everyone! I love writing, but the creative juices are hard to get flowing, so if you have any ideas, please let me know.


	14. Sequel

Hi faithful readers! I'm happy to say that I've found the creative juices to begin a sequel to "I've Imagined It All." It picks up just where this story left off. If you are interested, please find my newest story, "Muse."

Thanks for you continued interest and encouragement.

-CP


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